


All the Lines Blur

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Community: tsn_kinkmeme, Daddy Issues, M/M, Step-siblings, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark is sixteen and Eduardo is twenty, and they're about to become stepbrothers.  Mark shouldn't have a crush on him but he does anyway, and he decides the best way to get rid of it is to seduce Eduardo.  Don't listen to Chris--that's perfectly sound logic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Lines Blur

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for formatting errors in advance, this is being crossposted from the kinkmeme.

Mark’s mother left when he was four.

It didn’t make sense to him when he was younger… As far as Mark knew, one night she tucked him into bed and said goodnight, kissing him on the forehead and turning out the light.

And the next morning, she was gone. She left all her stuff, but her car was absent from the driveway. Just _vanished_.

In hindsight, it wasn’t that hard to figure out. She and his dad never _fought_ , per say, but they did argue in hushed tones when they thought Mark couldn’t hear. His mother had always been a free spirit, and being tied down with a husband and a kid just wasn’t her style.

He remembers crying himself to sleep for at least two months and he remembers the drawn look of hurt on his father’s face that lingered for a long time. The first week she was gone, she sent Mark a postcard saying that she was fine, she loved him very much and that she’d talk to him soon.

From there, their relationship existed only through birthday cards she sends him each year. When he was younger, his dad used to have to assure him that her leaving wasn’t his fault, but at some point, Mark just stopped caring about her. He doesn’t feel like his life is _missing_ anything. He and his dad are okay, and Mark doesn’t _want someone_ in his life that doesn’t want to be there. Really, he’s fine.

It took some time, but his dad started to date again maybe two years after his mom left. He always shielded Mark from them—at least, until Julia.

Mark’s dad started dating Julia a little less than a year ago. Mark approved of her immediately. She was nice and matter-of-fact, and she never tried to replace Mark’s mom or bribe him into liking her.

She’s just generally awesome in her own right, too. She moved to the states from Brazil when she was twelve, so she’s good with languages and she’s an _amazing_ cook. She gets Mark’s sense of humor and she’s good to his dad, so. He has no complaints.

His dad proposes in May. Julia accepts and Mark couldn’t be happier for them. She moves in with them a week later. It’s a little weird, to see her things mingled in with theirs on a daily basis, but he doesn’t really mind. It’s actually nicer than he expected, to see Julia in the kitchen making dinner every night or to hear her humming as she moves around the house. It feels like… home.

Which is, of course, why things have to start getting weird. Mark’s life just works like that. “We’re going to a celebratory dinner!” his dad exclaims in the kitchen one Saturday  
morning. Mark is sitting at the table, eating the pancakes his dad had made and coding one- handed.

“Mmph,” Mark responds through a bite of pancakes, because he really doesn’t care and he’s a little distracted tweaking code for Synapse.

“And Eduardo’s going to join us!” Julia trills from the living room.

Mark rolls his eyes when his dad can’t see and gives another very articulate grunt in response.

Eduardo is Julia’s son, Mark’s soon-to-be stepbrother. Mark kind of hates him.

Well, to be clear, he’s never actually met the guy. All he knows about Eduardo is through what Julia and his dad have told him.

Eduardo’s kind of perfect, which is why Mark hates him. He’s twenty, goes to Harvard and majors in Economics. He made $300,000 last summer in betting oil futures. His hobby is meteorology, and he must be stupidly charming from the way Mark’s dad talks about him. Eduardo is basically the standard against which all other sons are measured against.

That’s why Mark resents him. It’s nothing _personal_ , it’s just the _idea_ of someone like Eduardo. Mark has to hate him on principle, on behalf of all other sons who are less-than.

The day of the dinner, Mark’s dad informs him that he has to _dress up_ , which just makes him all the more resistant to the whole affair. Now he’s going to the restaurant in ironed pants and a stiff collared shirt, and he feels uncomfortable and he’s going to have to pretend to be interested in Eduardo for the entirety of the dinner. (Mark’s pretty convinced that something that perfect has got to be enormously boring.)

“Be civil, Mark,” his dad warns him on the ride to the restaurant. “Try not to scare Eduardo off, now.”

Mark heaves a sigh from the backseat. He’s in a bad mood and is not actually feeling up to dealing with his father’s harmless but annoying teasing. “Despite what you believe, Dad, I am capable of being--”

“Oh, don’t argue, you two; I’m sure it will be fine,” Julia says, smoothing over Mark’s snappish reply before he can finish. “Besides, Eduardo’s very easy to get along with. Don’t worry, Mark,” she assures him, twisting around in her seat to shoot him a smile.

Mark nods in acknowledgment. It’s a little colder to her than he is to her usually. She probably interprets it as nervousness, but honestly he’s just prepping himself for at least an hour of extreme boredom. Mark’s dad gives him a reassuring wink in the rearview mirror and Mark tries not to grind his teeth.

They make it to the restaurant before Eduardo does, and order drinks and bread while they wait, which is excruciating. Julia is practically vibrating with excitement to see her son, and Mark’s dad seems pretty excited too, if the way he’s cracking jokes is any indication. Mark is mostly just running through code in his head, itching to type it out and get it out of there, even if he has to write it on a napkin to stop it from pounding through. He has better things to do.

Just then, Julia gives a high-pitched squeal and jumps up from her chair. Mark’s dad rises a little more slowly but with a wide smile. Mark is still trying to figure out what’s going on; his brain feels hazy with brackets and letters for Synapse. He looks up in the direction of the door and…

_Oh._

That must be Eduardo.

He’s… _Jesus,_ could one thing about him just not be perfect?

It appears not, since Eduardo is stupidly good-looking. Like, Mark is kind of speechless, which is not something that happens often.

Eduardo is tan all over, tall and lanky with long limbs. He is wearing impeccably tailored slacks, a button-down, and a dark jacket, dressed like he’s going to swanky party instead of just dinner with his mom and future stepfamily. He has dark, expressive eyes and a wide, easy smile with white teeth and full lips that make Mark’s stomach do something funny.

Mark had no idea what Eduardo looked liked before now, even though Julia has pictures of the two of them together distributed throughout the house. Mark always just kind of looked past them, letting his bias cloud things. All at once he’s extremely grateful for that (since _god_ that would be a distraction), and disappointed because… just… _wow_. Plus he would have appreciated not being so utterly struck by Eduardo’s face right now.

Eduardo reaches out and gives Julia a warm hug, Portuguese words Mark doesn’t understand rolling easily off his tongue. He pulls back and kisses her cheek, moving on to Mark’s dad and extending his hand. “Mr. Zuckerberg,” he says in a happy, sincere tone.

But his father is having none of that, using Eduardo’s hand to pull him into a tight hug, clapping him on the back. “How many times do I have to tell you, call me _Robert_ ,” he says.

Eduardo gives a laugh, and repeats, “Right, Robert. Sorry.”

Mark swallows and fumbles to stand up, willing himself not to be too embarrassing but still somehow exuding teenage awkwardness from every inch. Eduardo turns to him next, eyes dancing and offering his hand again. “You must be Mark,” he says, his voice friendly and pleased, like he’s genuinely excited to be meeting Mark, which just makes _no_ sense.

But Mark takes his hand anyway, shaking it and trying not to be too clumsy about it. “And you’re Eduardo,” he replies.

Which is a weak response at best, but Eduardo throws his head back in a full laugh like Mark’s said something really clever or funny. This only confuses Mark further and his brow furrows a bit. Eduardo doesn’t seem to notice. “That I am,” he replies, still shaking Mark’s hand. His hands are very warm, and Mark feels cold when he pulls away.

“Let’s eat!” Mark’s dad says loudly, making Mark jump. _Of course_ Eduardo caught that, and he covers his mouth a little as he sits down across from Mark, hiding a bit of a giggle. Somehow Mark doesn’t feel mocked though… It just feels like he and Eduardo are in on some private joke. Mark shoots him a look, eyes teasingly narrowed. Eduardo just grins back.

 _Fuck_.

Mark is _already_ in _so_ over his head.

//

The dull dinner Mark was expecting is nowhere to be found. Eduardo is _funny_ and smart and easy to talk to and seems genuinely interested in hearing about everyone else. And Mark, well… Mark likes him, kind of a lot, despite his earlier feelings to the contrary.

At some point the conversation breaks off; Julia and Mark’s dad start discussing wedding plans as is common now, which leaves Eduardo free to talk to Mark.

“So,” he says, following the word up with a sip of his water.

Mark gathers that means he’s waiting for Mark to continue the conversation. Which, ugh. Mark is kind of supremely awful at doing that, and great, now Eduardo’s going to know how terrible with people Mark really is. But, okay. He’ll give it a try.

“Um,” Mark stutters. “How’s Harvard?”

Eduardo does that thing where he just _lights_ up. “Great!” he says with all of his trademark enthusiasm, and then he’s off, rambling about clubs and interesting classes and which professors are good and which suck, and something called AEPi, which—Mark doesn’t even understand what that is.

But he likes the way Eduardo talks, animated and engaging, easy to listen to. Finally he breaks off at something, blushing. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m talking too much.”

Mark shakes his head and is surprised to find that he means it. “No, it’s um. It’s interesting.”

Eduardo nods eagerly. “It’s a great school,” he says earnestly. “You should apply there.”

The suggestion catches Mark off-guard. “You think?”

“Yeah!” Eduardo replies around a bite of his pasta. “I mean, from what Mom tells me you definitely have the grades to get in. I just, I dunno. I think you’d like it.”

“Hm,” Mark answers, the thought humming in his mind.

 _Harvard_. It’s not a bad idea. It fits with Mark’s ambition and competitive nature, that innate desire to be the best. Plus it would be nice to be surrounded by people who share his intellect, especially compared to the idiotic high school populace he has to deal with now. Something about the idea just clicks into place like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. He’s actually surprised he didn’t think of it himself.

A slow grin is spreading across Eduardo’s face like he can see the wheels turning in Mark’s head. “Just consider it,” Eduardo says with a shrug.

Suddenly Mark realizes that the other side of the table has gone quiet. Julia and his dad are looking at them fondly, and Mark glares at them without any real heat.

“Good to see you both getting along,” Mark’s dad says approvingly, and then continues jokingly and overdramatic, pretending to wipe his eyes. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

Eduardo laughs like it was _actually_ funny. Mark raises an eyebrow at his father instead, too conditioned to his dad’s bad jokes to even pretend to work up a chuckle.

Julia smiles sweetly at them before looking at her watch. “Well, unfortunately Eduardo, we’ve got to get going. Mark has an early start for school tomorrow.”

Mark flushes at the reminder that, compared to Eduardo, he’s a _kid_ , but Eduardo just nods understandably at his mother. “Of course,” he agrees, waiting to roll his eyes affectionately in Mark’s direction when his mom looks away, like somehow he knows that Mark is an expert at staying up all hours of the night in secret.

They all stand. Eduardo gives Mark’s dad a one-armed hug, and Eduardo says, “Always a pleasure, Robert,” because he is a stupidly polite adult. Then he kisses his mother on the cheek and says “ _Eu te amo, mãe_ ,” while she replies with a murmur of “ _Ser bom, filho_.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mark says to Eduardo as his father and Julia head for the door. “Likewise,” Eduardo says with laughter in his voice; probably at the weird, sudden  
formalness of it all.

Mark goes for another handshake, but Eduardo just chuckles again, pulling Mark into a tight hug, which is a surprise but also kind of nice.

Eduardo looks a tad embarrassed after he pulls away, running his hand through his ridiculous, fluffy looking hair. “Well, we’re practically family now,” he explains.

It’s an odd feeling, but Mark feels his awkwardness slipping away as he gives Eduardo a full-out, dimpled smile. “Yeah, we are.”

//

The entire ride back, Julia gushes about how glad she is that the two of them got along, and his dad prattles on about what a good influence Eduardo will be, and Mark just tries to get the butterflies in his stomach to calm the fuck down.

As soon as they get home, Mark says goodnight and races up his room, flopping down on the bed.

He doesn’t _like_ that he likes Eduardo this much already. The last thing he wants is to have a big, stupid crush on Eduardo, who is his soon-to-be stepbrother, not to mention the fact that Eduardo is four years older. It’ll just screw everything up.

He resolves not to do anything about it, other than just hope it goes away. That’s the best way to do it.

Mark works on Synapse for a couple hours before shutting his laptop and lying down. He jerks off in the dark, lip caught between his teeth. He very determinedly does _not_ think of the long, lean lines of Eduardo’s body, or his absolutely ridiculous, soft-looking hair, his full mouth.

( _God_ , he wishes he could do something about it.)

//

Mark trudges through school like usual, sitting through the classes where he already knows how to do everything and sleeping through the useless ones. Chris and Dustin come home with him because they have an English project they’re all supposed to be working on, but mostly that means Mark codes and tries to ignore them both while Dustin eats all the food and Chris works on the project alone and complains about it.

“So,” Dustin drawls as he crunches on a potato chip. “How was dinner last night with Mr. Boring?”

Mark’s fingers stutter over the keys and he immediately regrets telling Dustin _anything_ _ever_. There is a pause as he tries to discern what the best response would be: to ignore the question completely or give a snarky remark.

But the silence is more telling, since now Dustin is looking at him with curiosity (which is _never_ good, a curious Dustin is a dangerous Dustin), and now even Chris is looking at him suspiciously.

He forces his fingers to continue typing and decides to go for honesty. “It was… better than expected,” he says, sealing the statement with a decisive nod and hoping that will be the end of it.

Mark underestimates the persistence of his friends.

“ _Maaaaark?_ ” Dustin sing-songs, drawing out Mark’s name and looking impish. “What do you mean?”

Mark sighs, because the last thing he wants to do is talk about this, but he also knows it’s best to cut Dustin off before he really gets on a roll. On the other hand, this could backfire spectacularly and just tantalize Dustin, leading him to _never let it go._ It’s a dangerous line.

“I don’t know,” Mark says, shrugging and going for nonchalance. “He wasn’t so bad.” Dustin pouts like he knows he’s not getting the full scoop, and Chris just looks confused.

“What do you _mean_?” he asks. They’re the same words Dustin said earlier, but somehow from Chris they’re more forceful. And, just, _ugh_ —Chris has practically become his conscience at this point (“ _Do not_ verbally abuse the PE teacher, Mark”, “Let’s get going Mark; people are wrong on the internet all the time and it’s not worth missing the movie over”, and other such phrases somehow seeped into his brain when he wasn’t paying attention and now they crop up even when Chris is nowhere in sight). So if he tells _Chris_ about the whole thing, Chris is going to go all _advice mode_ on him, and Mark doesn’t want advice. He knows he _should_ just get over the crush—if it even is a crush, he’s only met the guy once—he just doesn’t know if he can.

“He was just…” Mark cuts himself off with a sigh, slamming the lid to his laptop closed and swinging his legs around on the bed to sit up and face them.

Chris and Dustin’s eyes go identically saucer-like, obviously surprised at his reaction.

“Okay,” Mark says, the word coming out sharp and clipped. “Eduardo was nice, and friendly, and easy to talk to, and smart, and that’s all--so _stop making such a big deal about it_.”

He tries to glare at them menacingly, but apparently it fails judging by their expressions. Chris is wearing a small smirk like he knows exactly what’s going on already and Dustin is wearing a shit-eating grin that Mark just wants to slap off him.

“ _You’re_ the one making a big deal of it now, Marky-Mark,” Dustin supplies, hopping up from the desk chair and heading toward the door. “I’ll be right back, Christopher,” he says as he heads out, all false innocence.

“Where are you going?” Mark calls out the door, immediately suspicious of him. There is no response, and Mark heaves a very displeased groan.

Chris raises his eyebrows at Mark after sitting in silence for a couple minutes. “Better than expected, huh?”

“Shut up,” Mark immediately replies, pointing his finger at Chris in warning.

Dustin chooses that very dignified moment in Mark’s life to traipse back in the room. “I was finding _evidence_ ,” he tells Chris in the loudest whisper _ever_ , folding himself down onto the floor to sit next to him while Mark rolls his eyes.

Then he sees what Dustin has in his hands and panics.

Mark gasps and jumps off his bed, reaching desperately for the picture frames, which Dustin  
holds just out of his reach. “ _Dustin, I swear to god, give me those right now--_ ”

“ _Wow_ ,” Dustin says, looking at each picture before passing it to Chris. “I don’t even play for the same team you and Chris do--” Mark shoots him a glare, because he dated Erica, he’s not completely gay, “but I am not ashamed to say that this guy is _gorgeous_.” Mark gives up on wrangling Julia’s pictures of Eduardo out of their grip, leaning back and holding his head in his hands to cover his blush and letting out a strangled noise. “I mean, _seriously_ ,” Dustin continues, “he’s _hot_.”

Mark uncovers his eyes for long enough to sneak a glance at Chris, who seems to share the same opinion as Dustin, if the way he’s looking at the photos are any indicator. “Mark,” he says, his tone cautionary. “Isn’t Eduardo like, twenty?”

Instead of giving an answer Mark just makes a dying noise.

“Oh god,” Dustin says, bouncing up and down, and emitting a squeal so loud that the neighbors probably heard (and Mark takes the moment to be _so glad_ his dad and Julia aren’t home to witness this utter loss of dignity on his part). “Mark has a crush on  
his _twenty year old stepbrother_. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. Ever!”

“You already said that,” Mark tries, hoping that if he ignores the rest of the statement it will go away.

Dustin scoffs at him. “It bears repeating,” he says defensively. “Besides, you have no room to criticize anyone, you have a crush on your _stepbrother_ , jailbait.”

Mark lets out another despairing noise and tries to swat at Dustin with his eyes closed. He misses.

“Still worth it,” Dustin laughs. When Mark reluctantly opens his eyes to look, he sees that Dustin has fallen back onto the floor and is actually _clutching his stomach_ with one hand, using the other to wipe _tears_ from his eyes; that’s how much he’s lost it. This time when Mark whacks at him, he makes contact.

At least Chris seems to appreciate the severity of the situation. “Mark, you know nothing can happen… Right?”

Mark shoots him a very unimpressed look. “I’m well aware Chris, thank you for your very obvious advice. Besides, I’m not even sure it _is_ a crush. Can you have a crush on someone if you’ve only met them once? Is that a thing?”

Dustin and Chris both look at him like he’s stupid. “… _Yes_ ,” they say without hesitation. “Seriously, dude?” Chris asks. “Haven’t you seen Dustin after he talks to a new girl,  
shouting about how she’s the only one in the whole universe for him?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Dustin snaps. “Don’t hate just because I’m a romantic. Hope springs eternal.”

Mark responds to Chris as if Dustin hadn’t even spoken. “Well, yeah, but I never figured those were actual crushes, just, like… Dustin being overdramatic and ridiculous.” Dustin huffs and crosses his arms over his chest in protest.

Chris rolls his eyes. “Look, Mark, it’s not a big deal. I’m sure it’ll blow over the more time you spend with him. He’ll start to feel more like family, and then you’ll be okay.”

It’s somewhat comforting, but not completely. “Let’s all cross our fingers for that,” Mark mutters under his breath. He’s absolutely serious. If it would all just disappear somehow that would be a lot easier and save him the trouble.

//

It doesn’t.

Mark starts seeing Eduardo more and more often. Eduardo starts coming by the house since he’s out of school for the summer. He has an apartment about twenty minutes away, so it’s no big deal for him to swing by for dinner or just to hang out.

Julia thinks it’s great and so does Mark’s dad. Mark would think it was great too if he could just stop getting his _stupid feelings_ all over the place.

Chris’ idea that getting to know Eduardo more would make him feel more like family has turned out to be completely and totally wrong. The more he finds out about Eduardo the more he wants to know, and everything he finds out he really likes.

So much of Eduardo is unexpected.

He seems confident on the outside, but underneath Eduardo is a tangle of insecurities. He always seems worried that _one thing_ he says, no matter what it is, will push Mark into crossing the line and not like him anymore, which is just ludicrous (the things Mark admires and respects about Eduardo are _always_ going to outweigh his faults).

One evening, Julia explains to him in a very calm, solemn tone the situation with Eduardo’s father. She tells him about how high his expectations for Eduardo are, about his cold, detached parenting style, and the feelings of inadequacy it had instilled in his son.

It makes Mark hate Eduardo’s father, just loathe him with a passion. He’s seen so much of Eduardo, all the good in him and what a kind heart he has, and he just _doesn’t understand_ how someone could be disappointed in that. Ever. He thinks that anyone who can’t appreciate Eduardo doesn’t deserve him.

Somehow, Julia must see the feeling in his eyes, and she gives him a sympathetic smile. “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” she says quietly. “And his father still is in the picture. He’s the one paying for Eduardo’s apartment and most of his schooling. I just…”

She presses her lips together into a small frown and sets aside the cookbook she had been going through, turning to face Mark. “If you really want to _know_ Eduardo, you have to keep that in mind. I think—I _know_ he trusts you enough to tell you, but it’s just so hard for him to bring himself to talk about.”

Mark nods fervently, and she gives him a soft smile, giving him a quick pat on the back. Mark feels… he doesn’t know what he feels. He feels a little bit honored and a lot overwhelmed by the trust they have in him. He doesn’t want to let them down.

But most of the surprises about Eduardo are good.

For one, he’s really good at math. Algorithms especially. He takes one quick look at the one Mark’s using for Synapse and practically _shudders_.

“Ugh,” he says, leaning over Mark’s shoulder to peer at the screen. He’s close enough that Mark can feel his body heat and smell his shampoo, something sweet with a small kick of spice, and Mark has to try very hard to concentrate.

“That equation is _terrible_ , Mark. It’s so redundant. Look,” he says, grabbing a napkin and pulling a pen from behind his ear. He scribbles something down on the napkin and offers it to him. Mark pinches the corner of the napkin between his fingers, being very careful not to touch Eduardo’s hands with his own.

When he looks at the napkin, he sees a much more elegant, streamlined equation. “Huh,” Mark says, not trusting himself to say more yet.

Eduardo shoots him one of those outlandishly wide grins, all teeth and bright eyes. Mark smiles back but smaller. “Thank you, Wardo. It’s perfect.” He hopes Eduardo understands he means _I think_ you’re _perfect_.

( _But why would he? You’re just stepbrothers—actually, you’re not even that yet_ , his brain adds unhelpfully).

The first syllable of Eduardo’s name had slipped off in pure laziness, but the way Eduardo smiles when Mark says it turns it into something more permanent. He starts saying it all the time, and it’s not just another nickname because no one else calls him that—it’s something just between them. _Theirs._

Math isn’t the only way he can keep up with Mark. Eduardo is one of the few people Mark feels like he can really _talk to_. He just talks and doesn’t give much thought to what he’s saying, and Eduardo just keeps looking at him the same way, so he must not have accidentally offended him yet.

With a lot of people at school, Mark feels like when he talks, he leaves them behind in the dust. But Eduardo never gets lost. He asks questions that make Mark think and offers his opinion on occasion, which is always well-thought out and interesting. If it’s something Eduardo doesn’t understand, like code, he still lets Mark’s words wash over him and listens just as attentively.

And, just… Normal people aren’t like that. At least, not in Mark’s experience. Mark feels good to know that, just like he thought when he first met him, Eduardo is _special_ , and Mark likes that.

//

The absolute _worst_ thing about Eduardo coming around all the time is that it’s just making Mark more and more attracted to him.

Not just emotionally, though of course, that too—but physically. It’s embarrassing.

Okay, so, their house has a pool. Which isn’t that big of a deal usually; Mark isn’t really the outdoors type, and in the past he’s only used it to cool off in small doses when the heat becomes too much to bear.

But Wardo, being born in Brazil and growing up in Miami, is a sun-worshipper. He loves to lay out on the deck and just tan (which Mark thinks is silly, because honestly, Eduardo is _always_ tan regardless).

For some reason, Mark finds this summer a lot hotter than the others.

That _has_ to be the explanation, because Mark finds himself being drawn out to the backyard more than ever before. He sits at the table on the deck and codes, if he can’t get it out of his head. And if he needs a break, he’ll hop in the pool.

Wardo laughs at the way Mark’s curls go all wet and flat in the pool, plastered to his head, and teasingly critiques his swimming (Eduardo had been on the swim team when he was younger and has the perfect stroke, apparently). If they both get bored, they have cannonball or diving contests.

And sometimes, Mark will pretend to code and Wardo will fall asleep in the lawn chair. Mark will admire his flat, toned stomach and the muscles on his arms, the gentle curve of his jaw line… Sometimes Mark hates those times because his thoughts become so sappy it’s hard to take, but he also loves those times, because he can just _want_ without feeling guilty, since there’s no one there to catch him.

//

As far as nights go, he’s completely abandoned the original rule of not getting off to Wardo. Like, it is _so_ far gone. At first, he felt really guilty about it, like, _couldn’t look Eduardo in the eye for a couple days_ guilty about it, but now he’s just gotten used to it.

He thinks about touching Eduardo all over and it gives him goosebumps; his thinks about kissing Wardo and biting his lip and he thinks about Wardo’s hand in place of his own and he comes so much harder, so much better.

And it isn’t just that. He dreams about Wardo too—all the time actually. Not just sexual dreams, but dreams of them just _being together_ as a couple, without anyone else around. Mark never thought he was the kind of person who would _want_ that: with Erica being a couple was intensely awkward and made things so _weird_ , not to mention that guy last summer, what was his name?—Ben, maybe?—but Mark isn’t sure that counts. They had purposefully not done couple-y stuff and stuck to sex.

It’s crazy how bad it’s gotten, because he wants _everything_ with Wardo. All of it, not just once but all the time, too… And he just wants to make the wanting _stop_. Chris keeps asking him every time he sees Mark, “How’s everything with Wardo, is it getting better, what’s going on….”, and Mark can’t deal with the pity and the worry anymore. He just wants it done.

One night Mark wakes up with his fists twisted in the sheets, feeling clammy and sweaty all over, just _so_ beyond guilty because he can remember the dream he woke from in vivid, excruciating detail, and then the idea it hits him like a ton of bricks.

He needs to seduce Eduardo.

It’s practically fail-proof: sleeping with Wardo will purge him of all of this and get it all out of his system, effectively ending the cycle. It’s not going to be easy, Mark knows that, but he needs to make it happen. He’s sure that if he can, all the feelings will just go away.

With a solution in his head, Mark feels a 100% better. He goes back to sleep with a smile.

This is pretty much the best idea he’s ever had.

//

“This is pretty much the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Chris tells him promptly upon hearing Mark’s plan.

Mark tries to cut him off and explain, but Chris doesn’t let him. “No, stop—I do not want to hear your fucked-up logic because I can already guess what it is.” Mark gives him a very doubtful look, because _really,_ how could he know? However, Chris just gives him this _just you watch_ smirk and continues.

“You’re gonna say that sex is going to, like, purge you of your feelings or whatever, but you are _wrong_ , Mark. All sex does is create more feelings, okay? Feelings that sometimes you don’t even understand or want to have; they just _happen_ and you can’t stop them. Not to mention the fact that you don’t even know if Eduardo will go for it, and if he doesn’t, you’re gonna look like the creepy younger stepbrother.”

Mark winces, because all of that was so incredibly accurate he sort of doesn’t know what to do with himself. But he argues anyway, not just because that’s what he does but also because he believes he’s genuinely _right_ about this.

“First of all, Chris, since when have you known _me_ to have feelings? Especially in a relationship? I had sex with Erica, and I fooled around with Ben, and there still weren’t any of your beloved _feelings_.”

Dustin points to Mark with one hand and points to his own nose with the other. “Oooh, one point for Marky Mark!” He turns to Chris with an instigating grin. “Hughes, rebuttal?”

Chris spares a glare for Dustin before turning back to Mark. “Mark, you and I both know that you have a _crush_ on Eduardo. You like him for who he is. That wasn’t really the case with Ben, and it was _barely_ the case with Erica. This is _different_.”

“Hm, an interesting shot by Mr. Hughes. Do you have a comment, Mr. Zuckerberg?” Dustin continues, leaning forward and thrusting a fake microphone into Mark’s face, which Mark abruptly bitch-slaps out of the way. Dustin squeaks.

“Isn’t that all the more reason? If I just have sex with him and treat it like I don’t have feelings instead of overanalyzing them and talking about it ad nauseum, isn’t there more of a chance of them going away?” he asks, trying to use Chris’ own logic against him.

“ _No_ , Mark, what did we say at the beginning—do _nothing_ , it’ll go away on its own--”

“But I’ve been doing nothing this whole _time_! I’ve given it a fair shot, and I think that now,  
I should change strategies,” he finishes determinedly.

To him, it feels like an argument won. The logic works, why can’t they see that? Chris is just looking at him in bafflement, and he flops back onto his back and scrubs his hand over his face. “Mark, I am never going to understand your brain,” he groans.

Out of nowhere, Dustin just starts giggling maniacally. Now Chris is looking at _him_ like he’s lost it, and Dustin lifts a hand up to his mouth in an effort to stifle himself. When Dustin finally catches his breath, he says, “Man oh man, I can’t wait to see where this goes.”

That gets Chris laughing too, and Mark lops a pillow at both of them before crossing his arms and letting out a very annoyed huff.

//

Except, Mark has no idea how to seduce someone. Absolutely none.

With Erica, they had just kind of decided to do it after they had been dating for six months. He hadn’t even had to wheedle or beg; she wanted to get her first time out of the way just as much as he did.

And Ben… well they had just kind of sped past the seduction part and moved onto stuff that came after. So he hadn’t had to deal with it then either.

But he needs something, some kind of reference.

He’s not really proud of what he does next.

Julia subscribes to one of those women’s magazines—you know, the kind with celebrity interviews, and odd-looking fashion models wearing clothes that look impractical, and tips on cleaning your house. Julia gets them for the recipes.

While they’re at work and no one else is there, Mark digs through her pile of them on the coffee table until he comes upon one with an article title he’d remembered seeing: _How to Seduce Your Man_. Yeah, the magazine’s called, like, _Women’s Health_ or _Glamour_ or something equally embarrassing, but Mark figures the principles are the same. It’s about seducing a guy, so it should work, right? The gender of the seducer should be irrelevant.

//

Ten minutes later, Mark is blushing furiously—the gender of the seducer was totally relevant—but it wasn’t a completely futile exercise. He _has_ come out of the experience with a couple usable tips.

He resolves to think about it more later, because Eduardo’s coming over for dinner. Mark knows that if he thinks about it too much while they’re all there he’ll become an awkward, stuttering, blushing mess. He needs to formulate a plan first.

The whole reason for the family dinner is that his dad and Julia have some sort of “big announcement”. His dad had made kind of a big deal about it this morning, harping on  
and _on_ about it in his typical too-cheery-for-eight-in-the-morning way, so the idea is more or less pounded into Mark’s brain at this point.

Besides, they already told him that they were getting _married_. What kind of big announcement can they really have that’s going to top _that_?

But whatever, Mark is totally willing to wait it out and listen to everyone talk, stuffing his face with Julia’s homemade stew. (“It’s _feijoada_ ,” Julia explains, “the Brazilian national dish.” Then she turns, smiling affectionately and giving Eduardo’s hair a teasing tug. “It was his favorite when he was little.” Eduardo had blushed and crowed, “ _Moooom_ ,” but Mark had grinned.) It’s really delicious, and he’s content to listen to his dad talk about his day and Julia complain affably about one of her clients.

They make it the whole way throughout dinner without getting the oh-so-important announcement out of them, no matter how much they prod. And they _do_ prod. Mark and Eduardo kind of team up against them in the quest for answers, throwing out more and more ridiculous suggestions.

“C’mon, just tell us. Are you going on a honeymoon to… Mars?” Eduardo jokes, mouth in a teasing slant as he chews _feijoada_.

This makes Mark’s dad give a full belly laugh. “You had some trouble coming up with a weird honeymoon destination, didn’t you?” Eduardo shrugs with an easy smile.

Mark rolls his eyes lightheartedly and gently pokes Eduardo with the blunt end of his fork. “Obviously not, Wardo, they’re adopting a dog and naming it Voldemort.” Eduardo almost chokes on his food with laughter. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for short,” Mark finishes with a smirk, glancing at Julia, who is laughing too now.

Then they really get rolling, after a few minutes of escalating impossible guesses, between the two of them they have Julia and Robert and practically in stitches, red-faced and breathless.

“Are you adopting a child?” Eduardo throws out. “Maybe Julia’s pregnant!” Mark exclaims.

“With a puppy named Voldemort!” Eduardo finishes, through uncontrollable giggles. He reaches over and pats Mark on the back good-naturedly, and Mark’s stomach does a somersault.

It’s pretty childish and they all know it, but it’s good fun too. Julia takes a deep breath and stands up to clear her plate. “Come on,” she says, heaving a sigh. “Help us clean up dinner and we’ll tell you.”

Mark and Eduardo end up on dishes duty, with Eduardo scrubbing every plate until it’s spotless and Mark giving drying a very half-hearted effort. Mostly he’s just surreptitiously watching Eduardo’s biceps flex as he works, admiring the place near his elbow where the dark blue sleeve he’s pushed up contrasts with his golden skin.

“Well,” his father begins, snapping Mark out of those much too sappy thoughts. “Our big announcement is going to seem very anti-climatic after that little guessing game, but… we want to make you co-best men.” He beams at them and Julia gives them a very soft smile.

Mark smiles back, and then turns to look at Eduardo. He looks a little bit awed and a _lot_ moved, if the way his eyes are welling up is any indicator. “Really?” he squeaks.

Robert just nods and grins at Eduardo, letting out a little bit of a giddy laugh at Eduardo’s  
clearly overwhelmed face.

Eduardo continues to gape at them both. “That’s the opposite of anti-climantic!” he laughs. And just like that, Eduardo steps forward and draws Robert into tight hug, burying his face into Robert’s shoulder. Julia’s eyes are watery too, clearly happy. Eduardo whispers something to Robert that Mark doesn’t catch, but just to see the three of them like that… Mark feels a little overwhelmed too.

Not to the point of tears, but just… Mark doesn’t think about his mom much, but it still kind of hurts to know that your parent abandoned you. It’s not like, the most terrible thing that's ever happened to him and it's not the end of the world, he knows, but at the same time, it doesn’t really ever go away.

He used to feel like, especially when he was younger, he and his dad were so much _less than_ other families. Not where it really mattered, because he always loved his dad and knew that his dad loved him too, but in numbers. It was impossible to shake the jealousy when he saw his friends who not only had both parents, but had brothers and sisters too. He always wanted that.

And now he has Julia, who may not be Mark’s mom but is already something so much more than his biological mother ever was to him, more than she ever even _wanted_ to be. And there’s Wardo, in whom Mark has found a friend and he might even…

No. He has to stop this train of thought before it goes even further. That’s why he has to sleep with Wardo, to make these feelings go away, he reminds himself quickly.

Mark tries to arrange his face back into a joyful expression, and just as he does so, the three of them remember him again and pull him into a group hug. He relaxes a little and lets himself enjoy the moment.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Mark’s dad says, pulling out of the hug and clapping his hands together. “Julia and I are going out of town next week to scout for wedding venues.”

“And,” Julia continues, “Eduardo, we’d really appreciate it if you’d stay here with Mark for the week and keep an eye on him.”

Eduardo doesn’t say anything. His mouth just falls open a little and he nods, obviously surprised, and turns to Mark, as if waiting for his reaction. Mark registers dimly that Eduardo is worried Mark won’t want him, which is just so preposterous to him.

Mark shoots his dad a look like _really?_ , because it’s just the principle of the thing. They all know that he can take care of himself. What are they worried about, that Mark’s going to throw a party or something? It’s just so not at all something Mark’s interested in. At worst, all he was going to do was invite Dustin and Chris over and they’d steal some booze from the liquor cabinet and play Halo until they can’t keep their eyes open any longer.

But then he sees Eduardo’s face, and all his emotions are so visible there. The careful hope he’s trying to mask and how already he’s prepping himself for disappointment, laid out for Mark to see. Anyway, the more he thinks about it, the better it sounds. He can work on his little… _project_ , twenty-four seven next week without having to worry about his parents. This could work in his favor.

His dad must have caught his earlier expression though, because he gives Mark a very warning look and says, “Son, I know you don’t need a babysitter or anything like that, but this is what we think would be best. Okay?”

Mark can’t have them getting suspicious, so he keeps his change of heart to himself. “ _Alright_ ,” he says, in a very put upon tone, and Julia gives him an indulgent smile.

She walks forward to put her arm around him. “You two always get along. Just… look at is as bonding time!” she suggests with a smile.

 _Bonding time_. Yeah. Good way to think of it.

Mark smiles at them all and says, “Yeah, okay,” in a much more amiable tone.

Eduardo treats him to a grin (which looks a little relieved to Mark) and turns back to Robert and Julia, saying, “Sounds good to me,” like he never had any objections. Knowing his generally easy-going personality, he probably didn’t.

“Who wants dessert?” Julia asks, and Robert is the first one to shout “Yes!” and then they’re all back to laughing.

The rest of the night is just as enjoyable, and Mark falls asleep that night with a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a while. He thinks it’s hope.

Excitement squirms inside him as he closes his eyes, and his dreams tonight may not be much different than usual, but they don’t feel like torture now.

He’s really looking forward to next week.

//

It takes forever for next week to come. On Monday, Julia and Robert wrap them both in hugs, tell them to be good, and give them directions of what to do and where everything is three times over before they leave.

“Mom, can’t Mark just tell me all this?” Eduardo had asked, looking a little bit confused. Mark’s dad had laughed outright, and Julia had smiled a little primly before continuing down the list without comment.

Eduardo turned to Mark, who just shrugged a little bit self-deprecatingly, making Eduardo laugh kindly.

Finally they leave. Eduardo closes the door behind them and turns to Mark with a tenuous smile. “Well,” he said, sighing the word. “It’s just us now.” Mark smirks and nods, trying not to be too smug. “Yeah.”

//

Mark has a fully formed plan now. It’s all centered around a tip he’d gleaned from that magazine article. It’d advised that the seducer show off their… well, for lack of a better term, _assets._

He really has no idea what his assets are, but he does remember the things that Erica and Ben had appreciated about him, and he plans to show those off as best as he can.

So, he starts up the day by trooping up to his bedroom and changing into his sweatpants. They’re probably about a size or two too small, with the bottom of the legs about four inches from his heel. He pulls on a well-worn t-shirt and heads downstairs.

Eduardo’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal. He blinks a little when Mark comes in. “You changed,” he says, eyes back on his breakfast. The tone is too matter-of- fact and devoid of emotion for Mark’s taste.

He doesn’t really have a response. What he’s doing feels so _obvious_ , what’s he supposed to say? So Mark just shrugs, pouring some cereal into a bowl of his own. He fishes for a spoon in the drawer, and purposefully lets it slip from his fingers. The spoon clatters to the floor and Mark bends over to pick it up.

As soon as he does so, he realizes the flaw in this is that he can’t see Eduardo’s face at all. He knows that Eduardo is looking, but he can’t check his reaction.

He stands back up and stretches, working his arms up over his head and yawning, closing his eyes and working out the kinks in his back. He lets himself relax, opening his eyes and giving Eduardo a slightly teasing smile, picking up his cereal bowl and heading over to the table to sit down. Eduardo’s face is carefully blank, and he clears his throat before dropping his eyes down to his breakfast again.

It’s not much, really. But it is a start.

Mark smiles a little to himself.

//

Next it’s onto phase two.

Mark has always had a little bit of an oral fixation and he knows it. He bites his lip when he concentrates or when he’s nervous, and even in his sleep. Ben, for his faults, had always appreciated _that_.

He drinks red Gatorade all day and worries at his lip more than usual. It’s a calculated, slightly ridiculous move, but Mark’s betting it’ll get results.

His lips are _obscene_ when he goes to find Eduardo in the living room, flicking through channels on the TV. Mark strolls in and flops down on the other end of the couch. He can feel Eduardo’s eyes flick over to him and hears him stammer, and then swallow.

“Mark,” he tries, and Mark turns to look at him. “You’ve got, um…” he breaks off, gesturing to his face.

Mark’s eyes are resolutely blank as he rubs a hand gently over his face, purposefully obtuse. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Eduardo starts to turn a slow, shy pink, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He continues to motion at his face, stuttering a little. Mark has to physically fight his grin from breaking out. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, but it doesn’t do any good. “Did I get it?” Mark asks, eyeing Eduardo carefully.

Eduardo breaks his gaze and turns back to the TV, coughing a little. Inside, Mark feels victorious.

//

So that had worked at least, but not enough. Things are moving too slowly; at this pace Mark will be _thirty_ before Eduardo sleeps with him. It’s time to break out the big guns.

Mark sets his alarm for eight in the morning—eight in the morning, _oh my god_ , sleeping with Wardo had better be worth this.

He drags himself out of bed in the morning, pulls on socks and tennis shoes and basketball shorts and his P.E. shirt. And he goes jogging. Fucking _jogging_. For Eduardo. Christ.

It’s a gorgeous day, the kind that other people would probably take pictures of or write about or… something. Mark doesn’t know, but in his opinion, the birds are too fucking loud and high-pitched and the sun is too bright and he’s sweating like a pig. It’s awful. He’s not a jogger, he’s never _been_ a jogger, and this was a terrible idea.

When he makes his way through the door, his breath is heaving and his curls are matted to his forehead. Nothing about it is sexy, but whatever; it’s necessary for him to use the tip otherwise it won’t make sense. He just hopes he can go take a shower and get dressed before Eduardo sees him—

Shit. Eduardo makes his way down the stairs as if on cue, rubbing at his eyes blearily. He has a wicked case of bedhead, his boxers are slung low on his lips, and an undershirt on that shows off his biceps, all of it effortlessly attractive in a way that Mark has never, _ever_ been.

His eyes flick over Mark for a minute and his face morphs into a confused expression. “Did you just go jogging?”

Mark pretty much wants to curl up and die. “Uh, yeah.”

Eduardo looks at him, clearly bemused. “I didn’t know you jogged.”

He kind of wants to say _yeah, neither did I_ , but instead he just shrugs and heads upstairs to shower. He grabs clothes and rushes into the bathroom, closing the door swiftly behind him. He bangs his head just once on the door in frustration, letting out a very frustrated, “ _Fuck._ ”

//

“Get or give a sensual massage.” Really. Who comes up with this stuff?

The worst part is, it had been one of the most tame and least embarrassing tips in the article. But then he’d had to come up with the jogging idea since Eduardo would never believe that Mark’s feet were sore from sitting around the house and coding all day. And honestly, Mark would not even be attempting this tip if not for the fact that it showcases one of his… talents. Oh god. His life is clearly on a downward spiral.

He treads down the stairs, already in his swimsuit and heads out to the backyard, where Eduardo is already occupying a lawn chair. He’s not tanning for once; he’s got his phone in his hand and it looks like he could be texting.

Mark sinks down into the chair next to him, purposefully propping his feet into Eduardo’s lap. “Oh my _god_ , my feet are killing me.”

He quickly sneaks a glimpse at Eduardo’s expression. He’s just kind of gaping at Mark’s feet in his lap, looking a little bewildered. “Um… don’t you think that could have something to do with the fact that you went running this morning?”

Mark makes a despairing sound and reaches up to fling an arm over his eyes. “Wardo, it doesn’t matter why, all that matters is that my feet feel like they’re actually going to _fall off_.” He makes a feeble attempt to reach out and grab for a foot before overdramatically flopping back down.

Wardo sighs a little, and Mark peeks out from under his arm to see Eduardo sitting up with a little bit of an indulgent, look on his face, tossing his phone to the side. “You’re such a baby,” he says, grabbing one of Mark’s feet and kneading at the ball of Mark’s foot.

This is it. All is going according to plan. Mark flings his arm down and lets out a whimper. “Oh my _god_ , keep doing that.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

Eduardo lets out a nervous laugh but keeps going, digging his knuckles into the arch of Mark’s foot. Mark lets out a gasp and then a moan.

Eduardo freezes.

“No, don’t stop,” Mark says, all breathily, shaking his head a little. He tries to tamp down on the rising blush he feels, because _oh my god this is so ridiculous_. It was one thing when he and Ben were fooling around, because then he really couldn’t help it, his noises were totally genuine (well, at least at first. Maybe Mark had gotten a bit more vocal after Ben had called them “the hottest noises known to man”). But now they’re completely for show and it makes him feel more than a little embarrassed.

Anyway, it must have worked, since Wardo is now massaging the heel of Mark’s foot, dragging his thumbs across the skin with firm pressure. “Oh, _oh_ …” Mark groans as Eduardo moves to give Mark’s other foot the same treatment.

Mark pries one eye open a little to see Eduardo’s face. He’s so red he’s practically puce, but his pupils are dilated and his breathing seems to be coming a little fast and _fuck yes_ , this totally worked. That stupid magazine came through for him for once.

He lets out a soft “ _mmm_ ,” and then Eduardo kind of jumps up and rushes inside, blabbering apologies. “Wardo?” he calls after him, receiving no response but the sound of the screen door sliding shut.

At first, Mark feels pretty great, because there’s no way he’s misinterpreting _those_ signals. Eduardo is definitely interested and _it’s possible_. Then he can get this whole stupid crush out of the way and move the fuck on.

The feeling is only momentary though, because he immediately starts worrying that maybe he’s screwed this all up. Did he push Eduardo too far? He scrubs a trembling hand over his face as his stomach drops. The last thing he wants is to lose Eduardo. He could—shit, he would rather deal with the crush forever than lose Wardo completely. Maybe Chris was right after all; maybe this was an awful idea. He feels sick.

Mark heads back into the house. He can see Eduardo pacing back and forth in the kitchen. He knows he has to talk to him, as much as he doesn’t want to. At least this will end—one way or the other.

Eduardo turns around when Mark slides the screen door open. He looks… well, he looks fucking _wrecked_ , to be quite honest. Mark feels a surge of guilt immediately, because he’s never wanted to make Wardo look like that.

“Mark,” he says, stopping in his tracks, bracing his hands on the chair in front of him as he looks at Mark across the dining room table. “I know what you’re trying to do and… _fuck,_ we _can’t_ Mark--”

“Why not?” Mark asks, cutting him off. His tone is more desperate than demanding, and he edges forward around the table slowly. He’s worried he’ll scare Eduardo away again.

“Because, Mark, your dad is going to marry my mom, and also because…” he covers his face with his hands and lets out a hopeless noise. “Mark, you’re _sixteen_ ,” he says, the words coming out much softer than the others.

Mark steps forward again, only a couple feet from Eduardo now. “Wardo, our parents don’t have anything to do with us. And the age thing, Wardo, I don’t _care--_ ”

“Of course you don’t, Mark, because sleeping with me doesn’t make you a _criminal_ , it’s only the other way around…” he scoffs, shifting his hands so that Mark can see his eyes.

Mark takes another step forward and captures Eduardo’s wrists, pulling his hands away and letting them drop to his sides but not letting go. “Nobody has to know, Wardo,” he says, his voice a whisper.

“Mark, I… I can’t start a relationship with you,” Eduardo says, finally meeting his eyes. His voice shakes a little.

“It doesn’t have to be a relationship,” Mark tries. “It can just be sex.” He runs a thumb over the inside of Eduardo’s wrist and he visibly shivers. It’s a little deceptive, of course, because a relationship with Eduardo is something that Mark has literally _dreamt about_ —but that’s not the plan. The plan is sex to make the feelings go away. “You want this too, right Wardo?” he finishes, voice low and hushed like a secret.

Mark is holding his breath; waiting for Eduardo to say no and walk away again, but Eduardo is still, looking at him with torn, searching eyes. He inhales shakily, moving his hand (his wrist still held captive by Mark) to gently reach out with his fingers and press them to Mark’s chest. Mark’s breathing hitches, watching Eduardo’s face, which looks desperate and transfixed and anxious all at once. He runs his hand downward, light enough to give Mark goosebumps, and finally settles on Mark’s hipbone, caressing over it with his thumb. Mark looks down for a moment at where they’re connected; the contrast of his own pale skin with Eduardo’s tanned hand, and tries to will his heart to stop beating so fast.

He looks back up at Eduardo, who looks just _so_ starved for his, like he wants it all just as much as Mark does. Which, in Mark’s eyes, is pretty mindblowing and confusing and foreign all at once. Ben never looked at him like that, Erica certainly never did, and it does _nothing_ to help his pulse from racing.

“Yeah, Mark,” Eduardo finally replies. His voice is torn and ragged, but it’s still the best thing Mark has ever heard. “Yeah, I want this too.”  
Mark lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and surges forward to press his lips  
to Wardo’s. The kiss is harsh at first, all desperation and tongue and teeth clacking, but then Wardo moves to draw Mark closer, so that they’re pressed together from chests to  
toes. He uses his left hand cup the back of Mark’s head, running his fingers through the curls there, and slows the kiss.

Kissing Wardo is… well, it’s certainly better than kissing Erica ever was, and even better than Ben. It makes Mark go hot all over and he lets out this embarrassing, whimpering sound into Eduardo’s mouth. And really, he’s too busy focusing on Eduardo’s lips, Eduardo’s tongue—just _Eduardo_ —to be embarrassed, or even be happy that this is happening or thankful that he didn’t mess this up completely.

Eduardo pulls back, dropping his head onto Mark’s shoulder and letting out a shaky breath. “ _Fuck_ ,” he exhales.

All Mark can manage is a very fervent “Yeah.” He gives himself a moment, but then he’s tugging on Eduardo’s wrist and pulling him towards the stairs. This isn’t enough.

“Mark, Mark, what--” Eduardo sputters, looking a little confused. Mark rolls his eyes fondly, drawing Wardo forward into another delicious kiss.

“Wardo,” he says in the air between them. “C’mon.” His voice is like a plea—a little bit vulnerable and a _lot_ wanting, but it doesn’t matter, not when Wardo’s eyes look debating like that.

Finally he nods, pressing another kiss to Mark’s lips. It’s much too short for Mark’s liking, but is overshadowed in the next moment by the way Eduardo is nodding and whispering, “Okay.”

Mark pulls him towards the stairs again, and this time, Eduardo goes where he’s bid.

//

They make it up the stairs without tripping over each other, which is a win. Mark is still leading Eduardo, and he takes him to the guest room that Eduardo’s been staying in. He doesn’t want to take him to his room, you know, _the room he’s had since he was a kid._ That would just be weird.

Eduardo pulls the door shut behind them softly and locks it. He kind of blushes afterward when he catches Mark watching him carefully. They both know that they don’t need to—no one else is here—but somehow it feels better this way. Like it’s just the two of them and this strange, unprecedented _thing_ they share, the charged electricity of it… Mark can’t even begin to describe it.

They just stand there for a moment. It’s not even awkward, because nothing with Eduardo _ever_ is. He can feel Eduardo’s eyes raking over every inch of him and it makes him blush too, because, okay—Mark is aware of how he looks. He’s gawky and pale and thin because he’s _sixteen_ , but Eduardo is built and tan and graceful in a way Mark is incredibly jealous of. He’s starting to feel very self-conscious; he has to say something before he (or Eduardo, _god_ ) starts having second thoughts.

“ _Fuck_ , Wardo, just--” he says, stepping forward. He doesn’t know where he was planning on heading from there, but it doesn’t end up mattering because Eduardo grabs his hand and pulls Mark flush against him, meeting their lips in a frenzied kiss.

At first it’s messy and a little off-kilter, but then Eduardo whimpers a little into the kiss and… _there_. He puts a hand on the small of Mark’s back to press him closer and everything just clicks. Mark’s breath catches and he opens his mouth, letting Eduardo deepen the kiss. Mark is pretty sure he can actually feel his brain short-circuiting.

And he’s wanted this, he’s wanted it for _so damn long_ , that he can only deal with Eduardo taking charge (as hot as it may be) for a little while. He puts his hands on Eduardo’s waist and pushes him against the wall a little roughly, leveraging a thigh between Eduardo’s and kissing his way down Eduardo’s neck. Eduardo rakes his hands through Mark’s curls gently and Mark shivers all over, biting at Eduardo’s jaw in retaliation.

“ _Wardo_ ,” Mark murmurs against his collarbone, and Eduardo groans like he can’t help it… It’s a sound of surrender, of having given up on fighting it like he can’t stay no to Mark anymore. It’s _such_ a delicious noise, Mark wildly thinks that he wishes his brain could record it and play it back on a loop whenever he wanted—because it feels like he _knows_ now, knows how much Eduardo wants this. They’re all pressed up against each other and Mark sucking a hickey into his neck and biting his earlobe and—

Eduardo shoves Mark backward so that he flops onto the mattress. He’s surprised but not displeased at the turn of events, and even more so when Eduardo follows. Mark pants a little (and he tries not to think about how embarrassing that is) as Eduardo straddles him and reaches out gently and to run his hands over Mark’s pale, skinny chest. He has that same starved look on his face from before, the hungry look in his eye that makes Mark think that just _maybe_ , all this time, it wasn’t just him.

He starts to fumble with the tie on Mark’s swimsuit. He shoves it down, running his hands thoroughly over all the skin he uncovers in his wake. Mark shudders a little because Eduardo’s fucking _hands,_ okay, and Eduardo kisses down his chest, moving to gently bite at his inner thigh and press a kiss just below his bellybutton. The intimacy of that makes something tighten in Mark’s chest for a second, but then Wardo teasingly bites at the joint of Mark’s high and hip, and Mark lets out a breathy noise and doesn’t think about much of anything.

Eduardo lifts his head and meets Mark’s eyes. “Can I…” he tries, trailing off like he’s asking for permission or he wants Mark to be _sure_ or something equally ridiculous. Mark seduced _him_ , that should imply permission. _God._

Mark rolls his eyes and nods, trying to communicate that he’s frustrated with Eduardo for even asking, though he’s sure that it fails on some level and just looks fond. He looks back up at Mark, and it’s like Mark can see every emotion on his face. There’s fear and excitement and worry and happiness and maybe a little bit of desperation, and the force of it all practically bowls Mark over. It’s hard to believe that _he_ did that to Eduardo, who is so far out of his league it’s physically painful. “Mark,” he murmurs, eyes dark and lips swollen from kissing and fingers trembling a little. _He’s gorgeous this way_ , Mark thinks to himself, the thought shaking him a little bit but anticipation still humming through his brain.

And even more than any of that is the fact that Eduardo’s looking at him with such… _trust_ and desire. It’s humbling and huge and scary, scarier than anything that came before, because in this moment Mark can’t deny that this _means something_ to him, even if it doesn’t to Eduardo.

He’s shaken from his train of thought when Eduardo says, “I’ve wanted this for.. for…” He cuts himself off and his face reddens, like he’s feeling bad for wanting what he knows he shouldn’t. But Mark understands completely. He doesn’t want Eduardo to feel that way, but if he can’t stop it, he at least wants him to know that he feels it too. So he nods in agreement with a desperate, broken look that he doesn’t even try to banish from his eyes. It does the trick; Eduardo leans down and closes his mouth around him.

Mark lets out a moan, and he is immediately thankful that their parents are gone. He’s not a _virgin_ , but this kind of thing doesn’t happen to him regularly (because he’s a teenager after all). Most nights it’s just Mark and his right hand, and _jesus_ this is so much better.

The words Eduardo said a minute ago echo through his brain, and it creates this kind of squirming heat inside him to think about—the thought of Wardo jerking off fantasizing about _this_ , noises muffled into the crook of his arm.

Because the noises Eduardo is making are… there’s not even a word for them, they’re just _decadent._ Mark’s not going to last much longer if they keep up. He’s letting out little moans around Mark’s cock, and not only are the vibrations doing _amazing_ things, but Eduardo is rutting his hips somewhat unconsciously against the bed, like he can’t even help it. Mark’s trying to be polite, because he’s been on the other end of this and he knows what it’s like, but between the way Eduardo is _looking_ and the things his mouth is _doing_ , Mark’s hips are jumping forward a little every time Eduardo swipes his tongue around the head. Once his cock hits the back of Wardo throat and he just sort of _melts_ underneath Eduardo. Eduardo steadies his hips down after that, his hands a firm pressure on Mark’s sides, but he still strokes the skin over his hipbone gently with his thumb.

Mark huffs out a breath and then emits a whine, because _he is so close he can barely stand it_. Finally, Eduardo swirls his tongue around and sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, and Mark lets out this breathless whimper and comes—muscles tensing and back arching and cock jerking in Eduardo’s mouth. It feels so much better than jerking off; it’s like all those stupid metaphors: fire inside him or lightning tingling through his nerves and all that other pretentious, poetic shit. Eduardo even swallows around him, all of it (which is just—Mark’s brain can’t form words to describe how _incredibly hot_ that is), before pulling off with a pop and tangling himself down on the bed with Mark again.

He presses a kiss to Mark’s cheek but Mark isn’t having any of that, turning his head to catch Eduardo’s lips and then working his tongue inside. He’s still blissed-out from coming, so he just roughly shoves his hands under Eduardo’s t-shirt, pushing it up haphazardly and shoving down Eduardo’s swim trunks, not even bothering to get them all the way off before working out a grip and stroking Eduardo’s cock.

It doesn’t seem like it’s going to take much—Eduardo is fully hard and his breathing is coming in heavy, fast pants. Mark’s fists him fast and sure, not at all teasing (though one day he _would_ like to tease Eduardo until he’s mindlessly begging, whimpering and wanton under Mark’s hands), but apparently it’s enough by the way Eduardo buries his face in Mark’s neck and _groans_ as he comes.

He flops back onto the bed, pulling Mark toward him and kissing him again. It’s a sloppy, lazy, messy kiss, but it still makes Mark’s toes curl.

Wardo pulls back, and Mark can see the small tendrils of doubt creeping into his eyes again. That’s the last thing he wants.

“Hey,” he murmurs, snaking his arms around Eduardo in an effort of making him come closer. Eduardo goes easily, curling himself up and draping an arm over Mark’s side, even though his expression is still uncertain. “ _Stay_ ,” Mark says, almost a plea. Eduardo nods, a hint of a smile beginning, and he leans in to kiss Mark’s nose.

Mark rolls his eyes and says in a tone that doesn’t come out nearly as biting as he wants, “Oh my god, _Wardo_ , sex makes you such a sap.”

Eduardo laughs, head thrown back, full and happy, and nuzzles his face onto Mark’s shoulder and exhales.

Mark isn’t one for cuddling on principle (not to mention that they’re a little gross by now) but this is _Eduardo_. Not only does he have an absolutely terrible influence on Mark’s willpower, but he can make just about anything, well… _good_. So Mark doesn’t fight it. He just smiles to himself, and they fall asleep like that, no matter that it’s the middle of the afternoon.

//

The rest of the week gets _so_ much better after that.

Mark is generally in favor of Eduardo being around regardless of what they’re doing, but seriously, hooking up with him is fucking _addictive._ Mark never intended it to go on beyond the first time to just rid him of the crush, but he doesn’t think he could stop now. And Eduardo’s not objecting either, so.

Eduardo’s kind of _insatiable_ in a way Mark never really imagined. Sex with Wardo is a million times better than it was with Erica or Ben. Mark doesn’t know why that is, but it’s certainly true.

They don’t discuss the sex, not really. Mark does trip up once, but in his defense, it wasn’t really his fault.

They had been fooling around. It started off teasingly—they had been watching something inane on TV, you know, one of those soap operas where everyone’s acting is over-the-top and the storyline just keeps taking more and more ridiculous turns so that it’s basically impossible to suspend disbelief. But Eduardo apparently keeps up with it, because he’s glued to the TV. Mark rolls his eyes and makes disparaging comments throughout the episode, but Eduardo just shushes him very seriously (which Mark tries not to find

adorable). Mark has his feet up on the coffee table and Eduardo has his head in Mark’s lap, though he’s turned to see the show better. So maybe Mark has to balance his laptop on the arm of the couch so he doesn’t dislodge Wardo—it’s really not a big deal.

When it’s over, Mark says, “Wow, Wardo, what quality taste in television you have.” Eduardo shifts so that he’s looking up at Mark, but still sprawled out across him. He quirks  
an eyebrow at Mark. “Oh yes, because you’re such an expert and clearly have superior pop culture taste. Remind me how many times you’ve seen _Star Wars_?”

Mark blushes a little and keeps his eyes fixed on the laptop screen, but plows on with the banter because that’s who he is. “ _Star Wars_ is an innovative film that changed how movies are made, okay, not to mention that the story harks back to mythology—”

“Right,” Wardo drawls, obviously not at all swayed and now looking at Mark teasingly.

“Yes!” Mark continues even more emphatically, refusing to meet Wardo’s eyes. “And all your silly little _soap opera_ has is that woman with amnesia and the doctor whose face has been disfigured by his estranged wife who everyone thought was dead,” he says, filling the words with as much derision as possible.

“I won’t stand for this,” Eduardo replies, a smile in his voice.

“What are you going to do about it?” Mark challenges gamely, tipping his chin up.

And then, Wardo leans forward and bites his stomach lightly through his t-shirt, letting out a little growl as he does so. Mark yelps, obviously not expecting it, and smacks Wardo on the arm as he rolls around in laughter. Mark hurriedly sets his computer down on the coffee table, readying for retaliation.

They wrestle playfully for a few minutes, until suddenly Mark is hovering over Wardo, pinning his arms above his head and looking down at him. Wardo’s laughing that way that drives Mark crazy, where his face has gone all crinkly and genuine, and suddenly this feels more important. Mark feels… more serious, maybe?

Eduardo is looking at him funny once he’s calmed down too. He’s almost staring, returning Mark’s gaze just as intensely, and the mood just _shifts_. Mark worries at his lower lip and Eduardo lets out a whimper, surging forward and tangling their tongues together.

They kiss greedily, pushing against each other hungrily. Eduardo shifts, gently pushing Mark onto his back and bracing himself above him. He rakes his teeth against Mark’s jaw and Mark gasps, too wrapped up in Eduardo as the words slip out. “Oh my god, _Wardo_ ,” he breathes. Wardo hums in smug approval as he moves, now kissing Mark’s neck and drinking in his moans. “Your mouth, _seriously_ ,” he continues breathlessly. “You have the worst mouth, okay, I’m supposed to be the one with the oral fixation; I’ve never been this obsessed with someone’s _mouth—_ ”

Suddenly Eduardo jolts up, his brow furrowed together as he fixes Mark with a weird look, one Mark certainly hasn’t seen before. He looks a little bit curious but maybe a touch angry too, and Mark doesn’t know what to make of it or what he did. “Whose _mouth_?” he spits out.

“What?” Mark asks breathlessly, still not really paying attention. He tries to sit up and a little and follow Eduardo’s mouth, but he just moves further out of reach.

“I _said_ , who was this person with this _mouth_?” Wardo’s eyes are dark and he’s wearing a slight frown, and Mark shrugs a little and tries to play off the moment, feeling odd for some reason.

“Just Ben—well, and Erica too, but what I was _saying_ before you interrupted is that you have a much _better_ mouth,” he tries. It does nothing to change Eduardo’s expression, which is pretty disappointing if you ask Mark. He was looking forward to some giddy, playful making out followed by an orgasm. He wants to go back to that.

Eduardo looks at him for a long moment, like he’s assessing something. Then he seems to make a decision, hopping off the couch and grabbing Mark’s hand. “Come on,” he demands, still growling and glaring and looking generally angry at the world.

Mark follows cluelessly, because he has no idea what’s going on, until Eduardo practically throws him onto the bed in the guest room without any gentleness at all, and then kisses Mark bruisingly. Mark gives as good as he gets (because he’s always in favor of Eduardo kissing him), but it isn’t until Eduardo is sucking marks into Mark’s neck that he figures it out. Eduardo is _jealous_.

This makes Mark a little dizzy—in a good way—because Eduardo’s jealous of people he’s never even heard of, never even _met_ , just because in one point of their life, they had Mark, and Eduardo can’t even stand the thought of it. He rips Mark’s t-shirt over his head and shoves his shorts and boxers down violently, his nails leaving red tracks in their wake as he skims his hands down Mark’s sides. He kisses Mark desperately, open-mouthed and full of lust, and then pulls away. Mark can see that his eyes are basically all pupil at this point, and holy _fuck_ Mark is so turned on.

“You’re gonna tell me,” Eduardo says, his voice dangerously even as he roots under the bed for the lube (which Mark had gone to CVS and bought after the third time they hooked up, though they haven’t used it yet—haven’t gone past handjobs and blowjobs and just pure _friction_ ). “You’re gonna tell me all about Ben and Erica, and what you did with them.”

Mark nods dumbly, watching Eduardo squeeze lube onto his fingers and then reaching down to circle around Mark’s entrance. “ _Fuck_ ,” he lets out, breathless and resounding.

“Start talking,” Eduardo orders. And seriously, Mark thinks to himself—this possessive, jealous, bossy version of Eduardo is so damned _hot_.

“Well, with Erica,” Mark manages, “we, um. All she ever did was t-touch me, _god_ ,” he huffs out with his eyes squeezed shut as Eduardo slips a finger inside slowly, “She, she touched me, and then I, I w-went down on her, _oh_ ,” he moans as Eduardo works in a second finger.

“How many times?” Eduardo says, his voice still a deadly calm.

Mark racks his brain for the answer. “I don’t… I don’t know… Four?” he tries, struggling to keep his voice as composed as possible and failing spectacularly.

Eduardo makes a noncommittal sound and pushes his fingers in past the knuckle, circling them gently and giving Mark time to adjust. He breathes loudly for a minute or two, and then gives speaking another go. “And then one time we slept together,” he gets out, all in a rush because he knows if he tries to talk at a normal speed his voice is going to do something embarrassing, and he’d like to avoid it if possible.

Eduardo crooks his fingers and Mark lets out a moan. “What about _Ben_?” Eduardo snarls,  
plowing on.

Mark has to take a couple deep breaths to try and steady himself, try to think straight, because Eduardo is fingering him into fucking _oblivion_ , and he’s grazing against that spot _again_ and _again_ and it’s all too much.

“Let me come,” Mark pants, because as _good_ as it feels he can’t come like this, not untouched.

“No,” Eduardo says decisively. “Not until you tell me about Ben.”

Mark lets out something like a sob because it’s all too much and not enough at once. “Ben,” he starts, his voice cracking in the middle. “Ben was… wasn’t like Erica… we just… we only ever fooled around.”

Eduardo leans closer so that his lips are right against the shell of Mark’s ear, his voice cold like steel. “And what did you _do_ , Mark?” he insists. “What did you do when you were fooling around?”

Mark makes a particularly undignified noise but grits his teeth, forcing the words out. “He… he blew me and then he t-taught me how to give a blowjob, and—mmm, _Wardo_ , he gave me and handjob a couple times and he showed me how to finger him, once, but he never did it for me, _oh_ ,” Mark whines, his eyes fluttering shut a couple times before he finally pries them open, making himself _look_ at Eduardo.

“He w-wanted me t-t-to—try rimming, once—” Eduardo bites down on Mark’s shoulder and Mark lets out a groan, his voice feeling raw, “but we stopped fooling around not long after that and it never happened,” Mark finishes, shuddering.

“Is that all?” Eduardo persists.

Mark emits a very undignified sound.

“ _Mark_ , is that all?” he repeats.

“ _Yes,_ ” Mark gasps breathlessly. “Yes, Wardo, _god_ , _please_ let me come.”

All at once, Eduardo leans down to kiss him, all teeth and harsh tongue, strokes his cock with one hand, grazes that spot _just right_ , and Mark’s whole body goes rigid and he comes.

It feels hazy after that. He’s barely aware of Eduardo working him through the aftershocks or the little moans that he knows he’s making. His eyes have slid blissfully shut, and when he comes back to himself he sees Eduardo lying next to him, eyes closed and lip caught between his teeth, jerking off quickly. Mark leans down, licks over the head once, and Eduardo lets out a surprised, frantic groan and comes too, Mark moving out of the way just fast enough that it misses his face.

Mark cleans them both up with tissues from the nightstand, and when Eduardo’s eyes finally drift open Mark smiles down at him. Wardo reaches out and tugs him down, licking indulgently into his mouth and biting at Mark’s lower lip. He pulls away smirking. “How was that, then? Better than Ben or Erica?”

Mark huffs out a laugh. “ _So_ much,” he replies honestly, reveling in the way the words brighten Eduardo’s face.

“Better be,” Eduardo says a little gruffly, moving to kiss the hickey he’d created on Mark’s neck earlier. Mark lets out a moan and rolls over. It may take a while, but they’re _so_ going for round two.

//

The worst part is, Chris was totally _right_. Mark hates that.

The feelings haven’t gone away—not at all. If anything, they’ve gotten worse.

It’s just as easy to be with Wardo now as it was before sex. Everything between them is just so… _open_ , now. They can talk about anything. In fact, they often do, especially in their lazy, post-coital moments. Sometimes Eduardo will talk about Harvard or Mark will ramble about what he wants to do when he gets older, or just _whatever_.

There’s one memorable day when they’re twisted together in the sunny afternoon, sheets flung haphazardly around their waists, flushed from the summer heat and from their earlier orgasms. He can’t even remember exactly what they’re talking about, but Eduardo makes some offhand comment about his father, and then his face sort of crumples afterward.

They’re silent for a few minutes. Mark doesn’t want to do or say the wrong thing… He knows how important Eduardo’s father is to him, and as much as Mark wishes Eduardo could just say _fuck it_ and give up on earning that asshole’s approval, he knows (maybe better than most people) that relationships with your parents are much more complex than that.

“Did I ever tell you about my mom?” he asks, not meeting Eduardo’s eyes and fiddling with the sheets between his fingers.

Eduardo turns, and Mark chances a glance up at him. He looks surprised but also there’s something a twinge supportive there, encouraging almost. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head a little.

Mark nods, eyes dropping back down. So he does; he tells Eduardo all of it. And he nods and says all the right things in response—Mark didn’t expect anything different, but somehow it helps. It helps even more when, afterwards, Wardo kisses Mark, slow and sweet, and then kisses the top of his head and pulls him close.

And the thing is, no one knows that. Other than his dad, he’s never talked about his mom with anyone. Julia knows only because Mark’s dad has told her, but Chris and Dustin don’t even know what happened, just that she’s not in the picture. Mark’s never been used to talk to someone like this, without worrying or feeling anxious and being able to just somehow know that they’ll understand.

The rest of the week passes in a hazy blur. They eat lunch in front of the TV while watching Wardo’s ridiculous soap opera. They talk about anything and everything all the time, small or large. They swim in the pool, dunking each other under water playfully and laughing. They spend mid-afternoons and evenings in the guest room—which Mark has now come to think of exclusively as _Eduardo’s room_ —tangled together, trading kisses and touches. Mark enjoys every minute of it.

But at the same time, he feels like it’s all slipping away too fast. Before either of them know it, it’s Saturday night and Mark feels desperate, doesn’t want this to end.

“Hey,” he says, rolling over and curling into Eduardo’s side, the moonlight streaking through the blinds the only thing illuminating them. “Let’s go somewhere.”

Eduardo looks at him, his expression quirked into one of mild confusion. “What?”

Mark rolls his eyes fondly and sighs a little. “Let’s go somewhere. Just for tomorrow.” Eduardo’s brow scrunches together, but the corners of his lips start to tug up into a smile. Mark hasn’t convinced him yet, but he’s getting closer. “Wardo, c’mon,” he says, his voice soft and pleading. He’s pouting just a little, and maybe this is playing dirty, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t care.

Wardo’s face kind of melts into a smile, and he presses a quick kiss to Mark’s forehead before wrapping around him and hooking his chin over Mark’s curls. Mark tucks his face into Wardo’s neck and breathes him in, trying not to think too much about how they don’t have much longer for this. “Okay,” Wardo exhales. Mark ignores the way his voice sounds a little thick.

//

Wardo gently shakes him awake before the sun has fully risen. “Mark,” he whispers. Mark just draws the sheet closer around him and nuzzles deeper into the pillows, making an ambiguous sound. It’s too early for real words.

“Mark,” Wardo tries again, this time edging the sheet down a little and pressing a soft kiss to Mark’s exposed shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The only place Mark wants Wardo to _go_ is back to bed with Mark, right now. “Why?” Mark whines, hiding his face in the pillow and trying not to be swayed by the tender kisses Eduardo’s now pressing to the back of Mark’s neck.

“You wanted to go somewhere,” Eduardo murmurs. He sounds doubting now, less sure of himself. “It’s our last day together.”

Mark stifles a sigh, because he can barely stand _knowing_ it and he hates hearing it even more, but slowly sits up to see Wardo at the side of the bed, smiling easily at him. Mark smirks back at him fondly. “I’m up,” he replies, still muzzy from sleep and rubbing at his eyes a little.

Eduardo’s grin widens and he laughs, shaking his head, a little bit dopey. He leans in and pauses when their lips are just centimeters apart. Mark’s breath hitches, and Mark doesn’t have to see it to know how much Eduardo relishes that. “Let’s get out of here,” Eduardo breathes, before starting the morning off right with a kiss.

//

They drive to the city in Eduardo’s car. It takes about an hour to get there, but Eduardo fiddles with the radio until he finds a station he likes, and the music passes the time. Wardo’s taste in music is something else… He can listen to pretty much everything from insipid pop music to folksy melodies with very little lyrics, and then of course Portuguese songs that he sings along with at maximum volume. But this morning, it’s strumming guitar and hummed, soft words, fitting the pale yellow light of morning and empty roads and the city dawning on the horizon. Mark mostly pretends to doze against the window, but in complete honesty, he’s awake for all of it. He couldn’t let himself sleep through this; he has to soak up all of these moments before he doesn’t get them anymore. He watches Wardo out of the corner of his eye, watches the clear, plain happiness on his face, and tries to  
tamp down on his own smile.

When they get there, Wardo parks on the street and practically _jumps_ out of the car, running around to the other side to open Mark’s door for him. Mark rolls his eyes as he gets out, because seriously, he’s not a _girl_ , but Eduardo just smiles at him like he knows deep- down Mark likes it.

He twines their fingers together loosely, and they stroll down the streets aimlessly and unhurriedly. The bustle and noises haven’t quite started yet since it’s only six-thirty in the morning, and there is only a light buzz surrounding them. There aren’t many people up and about, but still they savor the anonymity. No one knows who they are or particularly gives a fuck. The age difference doesn’t matter and neither does the fact that their parents are  
going to get married, and today they’re just two people, walking down the street hand-in- hand.

They buy a bagel from a small little deli and split it. Wardo eats his half with too much cream cheese and Mark tells him so, making a face. Wardo just throws his head back and laughs, completely at ease, and tells him to enjoy the little things.

Next Wardo tugs Mark into what he professes to be his favorite bookstore. It’s a quiet little shop with shelves that line the walls and that same soft music that echoes through the shop. They spend close to two hours in there; Mark holed up in the mythology section, looking at elegantly bound volumes of Greek and Roman myths (the kind with the pages edged in gold and detailed, colorful illustrations) while Wardo pores over this photography book that is entirely full of glossy pictures of weather phenomenon—tornadoes, lightning strikes, storms with winds that blow over trees and the like. Neither of them purchases anything, but as they leave Mark watches as Eduardo slides the book back onto the shelf with reverent, careful fingers.

Then they head to Central Park. They pass a kid’s birthday party with clowns who twist balloons into shapes, a yoga class, and performance of a play, and more until they find a quiet, shady spot where they can just lean up against a tree and people watch. They take turns making up stories about the passerby; Mark’s are mocking and sarcastic but entirely unmeant, while Wardo’s are always overly optimistic and have happy endings.

For lunch, they buy hot dogs from a street vendor on the sidewalk. They eat them messily as they make their way to Wardo’s apartment. It’s quiet and a little musty from sitting empty for a week. Eduardo immediately flops onto the couch and sprawls out, waiting and watching while Mark explores the place. He just… he wants to know _everything_ about Eduardo, and he doesn’t even feel a little bit ashamed of the thought as he skims his fingertips over Eduardo’s countertops, his desk, his rumpled bedsheets.

Mark would happily have spent much longer there, but Eduardo drags him out, reminding Mark that spending the day doing nothing in Eduardo’s apartment is not what they came for. He’s right, but it seemed like a perfectly fine plan to Mark.

It’s mid-afternoon by this point, the colors of the sky deepening and the air around them becoming heavier. Mark wants to go slow, admire, because he’s seen the city before lots of times but he’s never seen it like _this_ , through Wardo’s eyes, which just makes everything so much more beautiful.

But Eduardo is filled with his characteristic excitement and enthusiasm, and heads like a man on a mission to get them to Times Square just as the sun is setting. He pulls them into the center of the crowd and tugs Mark in by his belt loops. Mark’s eyes are flicking back and forth, trying to take in all the colors and the lights, but when he stops he sees that  
Eduardo _isn’t_. He’s just looking at Mark like he’s—like he’s fucking _everything_ , a small, secret smile on his face. Mark smiles back because that’s what he does (he’s pretty sure it’s impossible for him _not_ to return Eduardo’s infectious smiles), and then Eduardo cups Mark’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply. No one gives them a second look.

When they pull back, they’re both a little flushed and their breath is coming quickly, but they’re both happy.

Afterwards, all that is left for them is for them to head home. The evening comes inevitably, wrapping around them and giving it all a twinge of bittersweet feeling. They trek back to the car hand-in-hand, just like this morning, but now it feels much more like an ending than a beginning.

They go straight to the guest room, moving slow like they’re underwater as they strip each other down to their boxers. Somehow along the way, they get distracted by each other’s mouths, and they just end up making out and kissing until Eduardo eventually yawns. It’s a night without orgasms for either of them, but as Mark closes his eyes encircled in Wardo’s arms, he doesn’t really mind.

//

Monday comes like a harsh reality, a too-bright light that makes everything seem a little overexposed. When Mark wakes up, Eduardo isn’t asleep beside him like usual, and he can already hear the shower running from the bathroom down the hall. Mark scrubs a hand over his face as he sits up and tries not to feel like the world is ending.

Because it’s not. He’s still going to see Wardo—all the time, soon enough—and he always wants that. It’s just, he got so used to _having this_ , seeing Eduardo smile at him across pillows in the morning and laugh with him over the stupidity of a ridiculous TV show and blush when Mark bites his lip and dunk him in the pool only to kiss him giddily when he comes back up. And now, that’s done. At least as far as Mark can tell; he has no idea how they’d be able to do this under their parents’ noses.

“Hi,” Wardo says, giving Mark a wobbly smile as he pads back in with a towel wrapped around his waist. Mark blinks back, hoping he can blame the lack of words on the fact that he just woke up and not the fact that if he spoke he thinks his voice might tremble with emotion.

Eduardo drops the towel and pulls on boxers, rooting around in his suitcase for pants and one of those starched, proper dress shirts; Mark is sure. “You should get changed,” he suggests, still with his back to Mark. “They’ll be here in a little over an hour.”

Mark sighs but rises, heading to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He already hates everything about today.

//

It only gets worse once Julia and his dad show back up. They came early, so he didn’t even get to give Eduardo a proper goodbye—he just emerged from his bedroom, showered and dressed, to see all three of them huddled at the bottom of the staircase. Eduardo’s listening to Julia rant, enamored with some wedding venue or another while Robert chimes in every once in a while with an added comment.

Eduardo looks more or less fine, but Mark has spent enough time analyzing the features of his face to be able to tell that something’s wrong. His smile is too tight, almost forced, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

All Mark’s scrutiny is cut off when his father catches him at the top of the stairs. “Hey, son of mine!” he calls jokingly, extending his arms like they’re about to have a big emotional reunion. “Come, say hello to your parental units.”

Mark rolls his eyes in Eduardo’s direction and sees him fight a small smirk (which isn’t much, but at least it’s something). Mark gives Julia and his dad hugs but doesn’t ask any questions about how the trip was, knowing he wants to avoid their spiel about all things wedding related.

“Say goodbye to Eduardo, he was just about to head out,” his dad prompts.

Sure enough, Eduardo is standing there with a bag packed in his hand. He doesn’t look happy or sad, almost… neutral, but Mark knows it isn’t true. He steps forward into Eduardo’s space and gives him a quick hug.

He wants to do so much more—kiss him until they’re both smiling or maybe bury his face in Wardo’s shoulder and sniffle a little, but their parents are right there and so the hug ends up being short, perfunctory. “Thanks, man,” he says as he pulls back, giving a jerky nod.

Eduardo smiles back, missing genuine by a little less this time. “Yeah, anytime,” he replies. “It was fun.”

And it’s all just so _horrible_ because that’s not at all how Mark wanted it to go, but it’s the way it _has_ to. Because they’re still going to be stepbrothers, there’s still four years difference in age between them. But Mark still has a crush, no—he’s pretty sure now, it’s settled into his bones like an undeniable truth—Mark loves him.

But he leaves because that’s where this was always heading; gets in his car and drives away and doesn’t look back. At least, not from where Mark can see.

Mark sits at the kitchen table for the rest of the day, trying to distract himself with coding but it doesn’t work. Julia and his dad drift in and out between unpacking whatever else they’re doing, until they come in permanently to make dinner.

“How did things go with Eduardo?” Julia asks as she shakes some spice into the sauce. Her tone is politely interested, not at all suspicious.

“Fine,” Mark replies, giving the bare minimum.

“What did you two get up to?” his dad asks as he chops onions off to the side as Mark watches his fingers hover over the keyboard in thin air.

He thinks of everything they did—the sex, the sound of Eduardo’s laughter as they watched that stupid soap opera, his face when Mark smiled at him, the gentle words he’d said after Mark told him all about his mom, his minimalist apartment, his fingertips gliding over the sleek, black and white photo of a tree splintered by a lightning strike and then his fingers gently caressing Mark’s sides, the kiss in Times Square, the huskiness of his voice as he said goodbye this morning—and Mark feels physically ill.

“Excuse me,” he says suddenly, pushing his chair out and bounding up the stairs, making it to the bathroom and locking himself in so he can just breathe. He was to swallow dryly more than a couple times to fight back the tears.

//

Mark doesn’t hear from Eduardo for a while after that.

It’s not like they don’t have opportunity to see each other. Julia and his dad invite him for dinner a couple times, and he tries to call him too. But he never shows up and he never answers his phone, and Mark knows when he’s being avoided. He stops trying.

He talks to Dustin and Chris about it. They can’t believe it at first. Dustin’s jaw just flops down like a Muppet, and Chris keeps asking if Mark is tricking them. He even asks for proof.

Mark just glares at him and then looks down at the floor, because _obviously_ he doesn’t have any proof. Chris catches the look on his face and Dustin’s mouth snaps shut immediately, and he’s getting that _look_ from them. It’s a mix of pity and worry, and Mark _hates_ it. At least neither of them say anything, thank _god_ —if Chris went into “understanding friend” mode Mark’s pretty sure he’d walk out of the room. He knows they mean well, but he just can't take it right now.

They try and cheer him up; they have a sleepover at Dustin’s where they play video games until three in the morning, and then a couple days later they go to Coney Island. Mark tries to have fun, he really does—but it just feels like everything sucks, and he’s never been really great at hiding his feelings.

Chris pulls him aside one time, asks him if he needs anything or if there’s anything they can do. Mark shakes his head curtly and gets out of the conversation as quickly as possible. Another time, Dustin tells him that he’ll get over it eventually. He’s trying to be nice and sympathetic, and Mark appreciates it, but it’s just… It’s all too easy for Dustin or even Chris to say, it didn’t happen to them. They don’t know what this feels like. He knows he sounds dramatic, but he just can’t stop thinking about it, as much as he wants to.

His dad and Julia are the same way, especially after how he’d reacted the night after they got back. He’s pretty sure they don’t know it has to do with Wardo—he’d told them that he’d eaten something weird earlier and they’d seemed fairly convinced by that—but they still realize something’s up. Julia keeps giving him these very concerned, very well-meaning smiles that Mark keeps having to duck away from. He feels bad about it, but there’s no way he’s ever going to tell her—just no way that he can.

Of course, the careful distance they’ve been giving him doesn’t last.

Mark’s dad turns to him one afternoon ad says completely out of blue, “How are you and Eduardo getting along with the bachelor party and your best man speeches?”

Mark blinks at him a little. “What?”

His dad chuckles at him. “You two better get started, that kind of thing takes planning.” “Hm,” Mark says noncommittally. An idea pops into his head and something flutters in his  
stomach. “Say, dad,” he begins, and he looks up from his paper to face Mark. “Is there any way you can drop me off at Wardo’s apartment on your way to work tomorrow? You know, so we can work on that stuff.”

His dad shrugs. “It’s fine by me, as long as you ask Eduardo first.” Mark nods. “I’ll do that.”  
//

In all honesty, he does text Wardo. However, all it says is, _coming over tomorrow._ He doesn’t hear back but that’s fine; he doesn’t care what Wardo thinks about it, it’s going to happen. It’s his only option—he’s tried everything else; all the nice, polite ways. This is the only other thing he can think of.

So he gets up very early. His dad asks him if Wardo said it was okay, and Mark lies through his teeth and says yes.

His dad drops him off in front of Wardo’s building. This is why Mark chose his dad—nothing against Julia but she would want to come up and say hi to Eduardo, which would just be so damned awkward Mark wouldn’t even be able to handle it.

He exhales slowly, trying to keep his hands from trembling as he lifts his hand to the buzzer. He presses it so hard that his knuckle goes white, and tries to quiet the thoughts racing through his head. He waits a couple moments, and then there is a muffled sound and Eduardo’s voice, thick and gravelly with sleep. “’Lo?” he says.

“Wardo,” Mark says trying to keep his voice steady. “Can you let me up?” “ _Mark_ —what are you doing—”

“Wardo, let me in, my dad’s watching.” It’s playing dirty but who cares—it’s not like he’s been doing this right up till now anyway.

He heaves a heavy sigh and says, “Okay.”

Mark waves to his dad and heads up, looking back just once as he speeds off, and allows himself a second of doubt to wonder if he’s going to screw this up spectacularly. But then the car is gone and there’s no turning back.

//

When Mark gently opens the door, Wardo is standing on the opposite side of the room. His hair is a mess, same as it always is after he’s just woken up, but the thought hits him with a pang he didn’t really expect. It’s just like— _pow_ , here are some memories you’ve been trying

really hard to get over and _bang,_ here’s some good old unwanted feelings to go along with it. He may actually physically stumble backward at the sight, he can’t be sure… he’s too distracted by the sight of Wardo in nothing but pajama pants and an undershirt, and of course, that hair (which his brain unhelpfully reminds him is only a little bit different from his sex hair—thanks again for that, memories).

“Mark,” Wardo exhales. “What are you doing here?”

Now that Mark’s gotten past the shock of seeing him, he can focus on other, smaller things; like how his eyes are bloodshot and there are bags underneath them, or how his previously spotless apartment has clothes and blankets strewn across the floor and dirty dishes in the sink. He looks up at Wardo again and can see how blown apart his expression is, like seeing Mark is simultaneously the worst thing that could possibly happen to him and, at the same time, all he wants.

“I told my dad we were going to work on planning the bachelor party,” he explains with an apologetic shrug.

Eduardo shakes his head, eyes squinting a little and face distorted with confusion. “No—I mean why did you _really_ come here?”

Mark sighs and stares at his shoes, one of which is scuffing the floor out of nervous energy. “You wouldn’t return my calls,” he murmurs, flushing more by the second. “And you weren’t coming by anymore and I just—I want to know, I want you to tell me _what I did_ , okay, because I know that—”

“ _Mark_ ,” Eduardo says, walking forward and reaching out so that Mark is in his arms. Mark goes into them willingly, burying his face in Eduardo’s shoulder and trying to breathe normally, because this is fucking _scary_ and it’s hard and everything sucks.

"You didn’t do anything wrong,” Wardo murmurs into his curls. “It was all me, Mark—I should have never done _any_ of that, okay? And I feel so guilty about all of it, about everything that happened that week and then not talking to you but… But I knew that if I saw you or heard from you none of that would matter and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself again, and—”

Mark draws back. Eduardo’s still holding him, but now he can look Eduardo in the eye. “Are you saying you regret it?”

Wardo’s eyes get really big and they look a little pained. “What— _no_ , of course not… But weren’t you listening, Mark, _it never should have happened in the first place,_ okay—”

Mark steps back completely now, and Eduardo’s arms drop by his sides limply. Mark tries to take a deep breath to calm himself, but he’s too angry for it to do any real good. “Don’t I get a say in this?” he asks, raising his voice just a little. “It wasn’t all you, you know, I was there too and I made the same decisions you did, but oh yeah, I didn’t drop you like you were _garbage_ afterward—”

Eduardo physically recoils at that. “ _Mark_ —”

“No, you know what? It’s fine, it’s completely fine… It’s happened to me before, with Ben, I’m used to it. I know I’m not worth anything, it’s just good to know that you feel the same way.” He tries to keep his face blank, to stave off the flush in his face, not sure if it’s from anger or shame.

“ _Fuck_ , Mark, you have _no idea_ —you have no idea how hard it was for me not to call or come over or see you, because you’re _not garbage_ , okay? You’re like… you’re like the opposite, okay, you’re smart and you’re funny and you’re worth, worth _so much_ —and don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise! There are plenty of other people out there who are a _lot_ better for you than I am, you deserve so much more than me—”

“But I don’t _want_ them!”

“—who are closer in age to you and who won’t take advantage of you and people you can _be_ with, okay, when you walk down the street you can hold their hand and no one will care. You _deserve_ that, Mark!”

“I don’t care what you think I deserve!” Mark explodes, his face pleading. Eduardo looks at him, so torn, and Mark just wants to make him _see_ , wants to show him, wants him to know how he feels and to understand. “I don’t _want_ whatever it is you think is good for me, okay? I just… I just want you.”

He can’t meet Eduardo’s eyes as he says it and looks down at the floor instead, because it makes him feel too exposed, much too vulnerable for his comfort. But Eduardo’s silence is making him uncomfortable, itchy and nervous underneath his skin. He feels the hot sting of tears prickle in the back of his eyes and rubs the back of his hand against them hurriedly; he really doesn’t want Eduardo to see him cry.

He sees Eduardo’s foot enter his vision as he steps forward. It nudges Mark’s own softly for a minute, and then he feels Eduardo’s fingers gently tipping his chin up. “Mark,” he says, his voice so quiet and tender. Mark shakes his head petulantly, refusing, his eyes still stubbornly downcast. “ _Mark_ ,” he repeats, and this time it cracks in the middle and Mark looks up at him.

“If you only knew how many times I had to stop myself from calling you…” he says, shaking his head just a little. His eyes are wide and open on Mark’s, searching so desperately. “I wish you could know—I wish you could believe me when I tell you that avoiding you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I am so, _so_ sorry.”

Mark lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and swallows hastily to make those goddamn tears go away. He still can’t talk his lips into a smile, but at least he can pull them out of a frown.

“I missed you,” Eduardo whispers, his voice barely audible but burning with feeling.

“I missed you too,” Mark replies, and he barely has time to finish saying it before Eduardo is kissing him.

It’s frantic, like they’re both trying to remind themselves of something, licking into each other’s mouths restlessly and impatient. Mark whimpers into the kiss and brings his arms up to circle around Eduardo’s neck, and Wardo settles his hands on Mark’s hips. They pull back just barely to breathe but Mark doesn’t open his eyes—he doesn’t want the moment to end. “Mark,” Wardo says, but Mark just shakes his head minutely and kisses him again.

This time Eduardo groans into the kiss, putting his hands on Mark’s ass and then lifting him up so that Mark’s legs are wrapped around Eduardo’s waist. Mark gasps and his eyes fly open, equal parts surprised and incredibly turned on. He trails a hand upward to brush over Eduardo’s cheekbone, looking into his warm brown eyes and nodding at the unspoken question he sees there.

Eduardo breathes out, kissing Mark again and walking them to his bedroom. Mark clutches at his biceps, but he doesn’t feel anxious or rushed anymore, not with the way Eduardo is kissing him slow and sweet and wonderful.

Eventually, Wardo’s knees hit the bed and they both tumble down onto it. Mark laughs a little, just once, and Eduardo reaches down to trace the edges of his smile and then kiss the corner of it, closed-mouthed and affectionate.

He draws back, and suddenly it’s all so… heady, Eduardo above him like this, their breathing quickened but in sync. Mark surges up to kiss him, his fingers threading carefully through the hairs at the back of his neck, drawn out and messy and full of _intent_. He knows what he wants, he’s ready for this, and just hopes Eduardo will let him.

He tugs at the wife-beater Eduardo is wearing, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it off and run his fingers down Eduardo’s chest. Eduardo does the same, pulling at Mark’s t- shirt until he sits up long enough to lift it over his head.

They’re moving slow at first. There’s no particular reason why, at least, not to Mark’s knowledge—but he’s not really complaining. He’s just so happy to have _this_ back, it doesn’t matter how it happens. It’s only been a week and a half, but it feels as if it’s been much longer. He thinks Eduardo feels the same, evidenced by the way he’s stroking Mark’s skin like it’s something precious, and the thought makes his heart thump a faster and something tighten in his chest.

He wants to savor every minute of it, but at the same time, he can’t stand it, because he knows that Eduardo doesn’t feel the same. Mark’s not crazy—he knows that this is just sex to Eduardo (and maybe a little bit of guilt too, for disappearing like that without a word). Mark knows he’s imagining the intimacy in every look, the softness of every caress, the possessiveness of every kiss. And he wants it, but at the same time, he really, _really_ doesn’t. Not like this, not when he’s deluding himself. He wants it to be real.

“Hey,” Mark chokes out, his voice wavering with arousal but still determined. Eduardo pulls back from where he’s tonguing Mark’s pulse point to look at him, and Mark takes in how utterly debauched he looks, pink high on his cheeks and the way his lips are red and swollen from kissing and the way his hair is sticking up all over the place (and Mark’s whole body thrums with the knowledge that now, it’s from Mark’s fingers instead of from sleep), and Mark abruptly loses his train of thought.

“What?” Eduardo asks breathlessly, eyes darting all over Mark’s face.

“I want…” Mark tries, blushing furiously and fiddling with the tie on Eduardo’s pajama pants to avoid meeting his eyes. “I want—Wardo, do you have a condom?” he asks, voice quivering just a little.

When he looks up, Eduardo looks totally shell-shocked. At first Mark thinks he’s absolutely, totally going to say no… and then he sees Eduardo’s blush deepen and his eyes dilate just a little more. “Mark, you want—”

Mark cuts him off with a frantic nod, trying not to come off as desperate as he feels. “I really, really do.” Eduardo doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him. “I’m sure,” Mark says, trying to answer the question before Eduardo even has to ask.

He heaves out a deep, shaking breath, and seemingly debates in his head for a minute before his lips are back on Mark’s, kissing him now with much more heat, fingertips no longer skimming lightly but now running hastily over his body, warming him and claiming him and leaving a curvy, white trail of fingerprints all over Mark’s flushed skin. He pauses, resting his head against Mark’s collarbone and panting damply, his breath causing goosebumps to crop up all over Mark’s skin. “I don’t, I don’t—Mark, I don’t want to take advantage, not again—”

“Wardo,” Mark says, voice pleading and hard as fucking nails. He cards his fingers though Eduardo’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp, and Eduardo lets out a broken noise. He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin beneath him, and then a teasing bite. Mark doesn’t know _how_ he’s supposed to handle _that_ , but his hips jolt up of their own accord, rutting a little against the thigh Eduardo has leveraged between them.

“Okay,” Eduardo breathes, moving up to kiss Mark, blistering in its intensity. “Okay, okay,” he keeps repeating, even more out of breath than before and Mark can’t even stand it, ready and willing, _god_ , _so_ fucking much.

Eduardo reaches for the bedside table, grabbing for a condom and lube and trying to do it all without breaking contact with Mark. He has to, eventually, to shimmy out of his pajama pants and boxers as fast as he can, but then he’s back on the bed and working Mark out of his.

Mark tries to steel himself because he wants to _last_ , okay, but if it continues on like this it’s all going to be over pretty soon. Then, he feels a cool, slick finger circling his entrance, and his eyes flutter shut and he breathes out all at once.

Eduardo’s kissing the inside of his thigh and running his thumb soothingly over his ankle, and then there are two fingers circling and they just slip inside.

He can’t open his eyes—he knows if he sees Eduardo he’ll come, and he wants this _so much_ and he just can’t let that happen. They’ve done this part before, more than a few times, but it’s been a while and it just feels _amazing_.

Then Eduardo finds his prostate, stroking against it with the perfect touch, and Mark feels so focused and so out of it all at once. All he can think about is the feeling, because every single nerve in his body is on edge. “Wardo,” he gasps, after what feels like forever, and Eduardo’s fingers go still inside him. “Now, Wardo, you have to—now, _god—_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eduardo repeats inanely, pressing a quick kiss to his knee. Then the sensation is gone, and Mark can’t think about anything, anything at all, he’s just counting the seconds until something comes back.

“Are you… are you ready?” Eduardo tries, and Mark looks up. There is Eduardo, towering over him, looking so beautiful and gorgeous and just… everything Mark has ever dreamt about.

He can’t form words, just nods and lets out a whimper, and then Eduardo pushes inside.

Mark winces a little, because yeah, there’s some pain, but Eduardo’s going so slow, taking such care, and he’s _inside Mark_ and it’s just so overwhelming. “Okay?” Eduardo asks, voice full of concern. He sounds a little overcome too, and it gives Mark a little more reassurance.

He exhales, jerks out a nod, and grits out, “Slow.” Eduardo complies, moving in shallow thrusts, until he’s shaking and pushes in completely in one smooth drive.

Mark lets out a groan, which had started out as Eduardo’s name and quickly became incoherent. The very small part of his brain that can still actually function is fumbling for something to compare this to, some sort of similarity that he could link it to, but comes up blank. There’s nothing, _nothing_ like this, nothing like Eduardo pushing into him slow and sure and just _everything._

It’s quiet for a while, just the sounds of breathing and a couple of breathy moans, and then Eduardo bottoms out and drapes himself around Mark, and the angle changes and it all just levels up to a whole other fucking _plane._

Mark is way too loud—he’d been keeping his noises so measured but now he just can’t hold back, can’t even fathom it. And Eduardo’s eating it all up, responding to the sounds with his own, and Mark’s eyes are squeezed shut and everything is perfect.

He can feel himself dripping with sweat and knows Eduardo is too, but the way they’re moving together is still _slowslowslow_ and Mark needs _more_. “ _Wardo_ ,” he manages, and he feels like all the air has been punched out of him. “Faster,” he whispers, prying his eyes open.

Eduardo nods and picks up speed just a little, but all Mark wants is more, deeper, harder, _god_. He rakes his nails up Wardo’s back, wrapping his legs around Eduardo’s waist and Eduardo seems to finally get it.

“I’m not going to—I’m not gonna be able—” Eduardo tries, squeezing his own eyes shut and cutting himself off with a gasp.

“C’mon,” Mark murmurs, grazing Wardo’s cheek with his lips, barely a kiss but just contact.

That seems to do it, and Eduardo unleashes this _groan_ and pulses through him faster, until Mark is sure he’s not holding back any more. He meets him push for push, hearing their moans and shouts like something far-off in the distance, pulling just a little on Eduardo’s hair and getting a hickey under his earlobe in retaliation. And then Eduardo grazes it with his teeth and moves his hand towards Mark’s cock.

The noises earlier were one thing, but the sounds Mark emits once Eduardo is jerking him off are something else completely. He’s actually hoarse, and if this keeps up he might actually die, but then Eduardo flicks his thumb over the head of Mark’s cock and he _comes_.

He lets out a noise like a sob, the pleasure throbbing through him in relentless waves, and every muscle in his body seizing up and Eduardo lets go too—Mark can tell by the way the rhythm becomes halting, frantic, inside him.

Their harsh breaths mingle between them for a couple minutes, both of them too overloaded to say anything. Mark feels absolutely gutted in the best way, but he also feels a little bit wrung-out and gross and a tad embarrassed. Eduardo seems to gain some self-possession around the same time, pulling out of Mark slowly. It still hurts though, and Mark lets out a hiss, which Wardo eases with a kiss and a finger inside of him.

He sighs a little as Eduardo works him until he’s soft, and then the weight of the bed shifts and Eduardo is gone. Mark’s head jerks up in panic because _no_ ; this is not happening again; _he will not let Eduardo panic again_.

Wardo comes back with a warm washcloth and a helpless grin, cleaning them both up and easing Mark down by covering him in soft kisses. When Mark’s breathing is back at a normal speed and his pulse has slowed down to the human rate instead of that of a hummingbird, Eduardo presses a kiss to each eyelid, and then Mark’s forehead, and finally his cheek.

“How do you feel?” he asks, elbow propping up his head and mouth in a lopsided smile. “Ugh,” Mark replies very elegantly, and Eduardo laughs. Mark narrows his eyes at him,  
faux-annoyed, and Eduardo covers his mouth to stifle another giggle.

Mark puts a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him in to kiss him properly. This time it isn’t urgent, it’s just soft and slow and sweet. He pulls back and can’t help the smile that slides on his own face—it’s just a reflex, at this point—but then that _thing_ tugs in his chest again and he has to nuzzle his way into Eduardo’s neck to avoid letting him see.

“Don’t abandon me again,” he mumbles, heat rising to his cheeks in that horrible mix of embarrassment and awkwardness.

It melts away when Eduardo wraps his arms around Mark, just as sweaty and scorching but never more comforting, and whispers back, “I won’t, Mark.”

//

After that, things are amazing. They manage to settle into a sort of routine. Mark will go over to Eduardo's every other day or so, claiming they're working on wedding stuff.

Which they are. A little.

They've got the bachelor party pretty much all put together, it just has a few loose ends here and there and then they'll have to work on the speeches. So they're not lying when they say “wedding stuff”.

But other things happen too.

And it's just so weird because simultaneously it's _so_ much like last time and not at all similar. There's sex, yeah, but it's just... different.

Now, Eduardo cooks for them, for one. He definitely got his mother's natural talent with that. He makes Mark delicious meals, lunches and dinners to absolutely _die_ for, stirring pots and pans over the stove while Mark sits on the island, watching and joking and making Eduardo laugh.

This time, Eduardo reads, sprawled out on the couch with his dorky (but somehow still adorable) reading glasses pushed up on his nose, his brow scrunched in concentration or a highlighter in his hand if he’s poring over a textbook. Or they'll curl together on the couch, Eduardo wielding the pencil and the day's crossword puzzle, working as a team to try and

beat yesterday's time. Sometimes, Mark will bring his laptop and work on college applications at Eduardo's kitchen table. Their only real staple is that same, ridiculous soap opera.

It's also different this time because now, they go out. Not anything big, not like dates—just, when Eduardo's too tired to cook or they both feel too cooped up, they'll head down to the grocery store or a pizza place down the street, just for a little bit of freedom.

Everything about it is so… domestic. Mark’s not quite sure that’s the right word, but—it’s like this: the being together, the couple-y stuff? That was the stuff he couldn’t _stand_ with Erica. It was why they broke up, ultimately. That’s why he and Ben cut all that out and just stuck to a physical relationship. Neither of them had wanted it, and that was fine. That relationship didn’t work out either, but, whatever. They’re _sixteen_ , so what?

But with Eduardo, all that relationship stuff is just so much _easier_. It comes so naturally, and he’s actually enjoying it, surprisingly enough. He finds himself looking forward to it just as much as he does everything else.

And of course, there's the sex. _That_ hasn't changed, not one bit. It's still as mindblowing as ever.

At home, things are great too. After the first couple visits, Julia told Mark how glad she was that they're so comfortable together again.

"I know you two said everything was fine, after that week, but you were both just acting so _strangely_. You don't have to talk about it, nothing like that; I'm just glad you boys managed to work things out," she explains with a smile. Mark tries not to feel too guilty.

Eduardo stops by the house again too, but never for very long if he can help it. He always claims to be on his way to meet a friend or to run some errands or something, but he just "wanted to pop in and say hi". He does get wrangled into a couple of quick family dinners, but somehow they manage not to be _too_ awkward. He and Mark talk, of course, and are perfectly friendly and comfortable with each other, but Eduardo spends most of the conversation asking wedding questions or catching up with his mom about people they both know or talking sports with Robert. Mark gets small talk.

Honestly, it doesn't bother him, because he knows he gets so much _else_ of Eduardo when they're alone together. He gets the indulgent smile when he says something a little biting, he gets Eduardo's laugh during the soap opera, he gets Eduardo's voice groaning out his name and his head pillowed against his shoulder and his hand laced through Mark's. The stuff that _matters_. And that’s enough.

//

There’s one weekend where Eduardo stays over again.

Of course, Robert and Julia have to go out of town for—what else—wedding stuff, but it’s only for two nights and a day.

He’s pretty sure they mention Eduardo staying on a whim; in all honesty Mark could totally be alone for that long on his own and not burn the house to the ground, and they all know it. But, they throw his name out there like, “Oh, Eduardo will probably be able to stay with you if you want,” and Mark can feel something in him just perk up.

“Sure,” he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as usual. He’s not looking at either of them directly, but he can see them both turn to face him, obviously taken off-guard, in his periphery.

“Really?” Robert says, sounding a little skeptical. “You’re not being sarcastic right now?”

Mark turns so that he can see them both and give them a full-out eye roll. “ _No_ , I’m not. It’s just, I dunno. It makes sense,” he tries, picking at a fingernail just to give his trembling hands something to do. “I mean, we’re getting together all the time to plan wedding stuff, so. We can do that. And, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have Chris and Dustin over too. Or something.” He shrugs.

Robert looks pleasantly surprised and says, “Fine by me.” Julia seems to accept it too, but is a little slower to stop looking at him so curiously. Mark knows how observant she is; it’s worrying him.

The Chris and Dustin thing was completely off the cuff, but also true. They _have_ been whining about how they haven’t met Eduardo (since they figured it out in record time after Mark confronted him, Dustin calling it the minute Mark walked in the door of Dustin’s bedroom—“Oh my god, Chris, he’s _smiling_. He’s having sex again.”—followed by a somewhat traumatizing conversation of Chris trying to make sure Mark is okay and Dustin peppering him with questions followed by threatening to defend Mark’s honor if Eduardo ever “breaks his heart again”—strictly _Dustin’s_ words.), and this _would_ be kind of a perfect opportunity. They could all hang out here for a couple of hours and then they would leave and it would just be him and Eduardo… overnight again. Just like last time. It makes Mark’s pulse speed up to think about.

Their parents' plan is to leave in the evening, since wherever they're heading is only three or four hours away. If they have to, they'll stop and get a hotel, but they don't think they'll need to.

The reasons for leaving at night are simple. They will have both had long days at work beforehand and will want to relax a little first, the roads will be less crowded, blah blah blah—it doesn't matter to Mark. The only part he catches is what Julia says last: "Oh, and this way Eduardo can come over here for dinner first.” And Mark almost has a complete  
inner breakdown right then and there.

There's basically no way out of it. Eduardo can't claim to be busy, since he's coming there anyway, and Mark can't act like he doesn't want to see Eduardo, since he's about to spend the whole weekend with him. All of this combined with Julia's professional guilt trip to Eduardo ("Sweetie, you haven't come to see us in a while, you've been cooped up in that apartment too long, I need to be sure you're eating...") makes it inevitable. Eduardo shows up at the house at 5:00 on Friday afternoon, right on schedule.

Julia ushers him into the kitchen and fawns over him like she hasn't seen him in a year, and Robert claps him on the back and asks about living in the city for the summer, and Mark sits very quietly at the table and tries not to expire on the spot. See, the thing is, they've done stuff like this before, but all this "quality family time" before their weekend together is bound to make things pretty fucking weird between them. At least, that's what Mark's head has figured out; though someone apparently needs to tell his heartbeat this, because the top three buttons of Eduardo's shirt are unbuttoned, just enough so that he can see the smooth, tan skin of his collarbone, and _oh my god_ this is _torture_.

But then, after being force-fed some bread by Julia (who's worried Eduardo's "too thin"), Eduardo makes his way over to Mark and gives him this dopey, lopsided smile. "Hey Mark," he says, and something just... _clicks_ into place. Suddenly Mark can knit together the two versions of Eduardo that exist in his head: the one who is stupidly polite to their parents and goes to Harvard and speaks stiltedly but respectfully of his father, and the _other_ Eduardo, who rolls his eyes affectionately when Julia calls to check up on him and can disappear in a secondhand bookstore for hours on end, armed only with a cup of coffee, and grits his teeth when he talks about his father's money and the strings attached to it and his rigid expectations, and most of all, who smiles that same goofy smile at Mark all the time when Mark's just said something particularly snide about a random passerby or the soap opera on TV. They're the same person, no matter who else is around.

"Wardo," he replies with a small nod and an even smaller smile. But Eduardo picks up on it and his grin widens, and sits down next to him.

Something shifts between them, because the awkwardness that had lingered while they were around their parents before now has seemingly vanished, and conversation and laughter flows easily between the four of them at dinner. It's almost like before, only now Eduardo will shoot him a knowing smile every once in a while, and Mark will return it, and it makes something inside him thrill, and _that_ is so much better than before. This may turn out to be a pretty good night.

That is, if their parents would ever _go_. After dinner they just sort of… hang out there, for no apparent reason. And, it’s fun, whatever, but—Mark was _really_ looking forward to the things that were going to happen _afterwards._

Finally at 9:00, after many exaggerated yawns and complaints of tiredness from both of them ( _why_ can’t his dad just take a hint already), Robert and Julia are dragging their bags to the trunk and telling them both to be good and hopping in the car. Mark and Eduardo stand on the stoop, waving and calling goodbye as they watch them disappear down the road.

He turns to face Eduardo, who reaches for his hand. It’s dark out, but he can see Eduardo’s pupils are blown and a tint of red on his cheeks, and he’s wearing that same infectious smile. “Oh my _god_ , I thought they’d never leave,” Eduardo says, breathless. Mark laughs outright and lets Eduardo pull him inside and up the stairs.

They tumble onto the guest bed through breathless laughter, Eduardo nibbling at his earlobe and his warm weight pressing Mark into the bed from above while he fumbles with the infuriating buttons on Wardo’s shirt. He curses under his breath when they don’t yield, and Eduardo huffs out a laugh that warms Mark’s skin.

“What’s the point of the buttons?” Mark whines. “Especially for you, Wardo, if you’re not even gonna button the top three? Do you know how damn _distracting_ —”

Eduardo cuts him off with a fuller laugh, nudging Mark’s cheek with his nose and moving closer for a greedy kiss. When they pull away to breathe he says against Mark’s lips, “I’m sorry for _distracting_ you,” but his voice is like liquid, warm and smooth, and he really doesn’t sound very sorry at all.

“Hmph,” Mark lets out grumpily as he finally works the last button open and pushes the shirt off Wardo’s shoulders. “You _should_ be.” He wants to say more, but Eduardo swallows the words into a kiss and Mark loses his train of thought.

It seems like the world around has stopped spinning, and for all Mark cares, it could have. The streets are quiet, and the only evidence of outside is the soft chirp of crickets, barely audible through the open window. The only thing that matters is _thisthisthis_ , this _thing_ between them and the pure sensation of Eduardo’s mouth around him causing Mark to writhe in the sheets.

Then there’s the sound of car tires on wet pavement, moving slowly down the street and they both freeze. It’s coming closer and closer and Mark can barely breathe, and then there’s a flash of headlights reflected against the wall and Eduardo pulls off with a pop.

“Do you think—” he starts, his voice a whisper, but Mark shakes his head and grabs for Eduardo’s phone.

“They’d have texted us, or called, or… _something_ ,” Mark says decidedly.

“The passode is…” Eduardo begins, but Mark’s already gotten into it and is checking for new messages.

Wardo looks at him curiously, and Mark rolls his eyes. “It’s your birthday, duh.”

The expression of confusion shifts into one of more fondness. “You know my birthday?”

Mark pointedly ignores the question to focus on the more pressing matter. “There’s nothing. It can’t be them.”

Eduardo looks hesitant for a minute and then something mischievous fights its way onto his face. “You have to be quiet. Like, _silent_ ,” he says as he slips his mouth back around Mark’s cock, and Mark lets out a small whimper at the words.

There are sounds of car doors opening and closing, and people (who are definitely not Robert or Julia) talking unnecessarily loudly, like some of them are drunk. Mark’s assumed that they’re next door, so it’s fine, but still.

Keeping quiet is not something Mark is good at, and he has to muffle his noises into the crook his arm, but the whole thing is _so_ turning him on. Not to mention the fact that Eduardo’s like, just _really good at this_. He’s a huge tease, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue and pulling off to bite possessively at the jut of Mark’s hipbone or to kiss the inside of his thigh every couple of minutes, and Mark is ridiculously close. He lifts his arm a little so he can see Eduardo’s face, and at that exact moment Eduardo looks up at him from under his lashes, and it’s all too much. “ _Wardo_ ,” Mark lets out in a cracked murmur, and he lets go and comes.

Eduardo swallows through the first few pulses, but then pulls off and coughs a little before scrambling up to kiss Mark. Mark kisses back, flushed and content, and at the same time reaches down to jerk Eduardo off. He must not have been expected it because he groans, which makes Mark want to laugh but he holds back, not wanting to ruin the moment. So instead he pinches Eduardo’s side, and whispers, “ _Silent_ , Wardo, remember?”

Wardo squirms a little at the pinch and shoots Mark an ineffectual glare, too amused to really be intimidating.

Turns out, Wardo’s not really good at being quiet either. He’s panting harshly into where he’s nestled his face in Mark’s neck and his hips keeping jumping forward unconsciously. Mark tangles the fingers of his other hand into Eduardo’s hair and tugs, just a little, and that does it. Eduardo moans as he comes, Portuguese that Mark doesn’t understand slipping in and out of his voice.

He shifts his weight off Mark when he comes down, though Mark wiggles in closer to his side and throws an arm across his ribs. “You lose,” he says simply, since he feels a little smug that Eduardo was unexpectedly worse at the whole _keeping quiet_ thing, and Eduardo barks out a laugh.

He shakes his head and turns to see Mark better, swiping a thumb gently across his cheekbone. “Not really,” he says with a faltering smile. Mark doesn’t understand quite what he means, but he thinks he feels the same.

//

The next day, Dustin and Chris come over around noon. Eduardo seems almost _nervous_ about meeting them, which just makes absolutely no sense to Mark at all.

Not that Dustin at Chris are really doing anything to help put him at ease. They act a little icy as Eduardo shakes their hands and says hello with all of his characteristic friendliness, with Chris trying to stand up a little taller than he is (though all it does it make him look ridiculous, especially since Wardo is decidedly taller no matter how hard Chris tries) and Dustin’s eyes warily narrowed.

“Guys,” Mark says, head in his hands, “Just _stop it_.”

“We’re defending your honor, Marky Mark, just like we said!” Dustin declares, puffing out his chest.

Mark make a dying sound and Eduardo laughs a little nervously. “My honor does not need defending,” he protests.

Their resolve does not last long. They set up camp in the living room, plugging Dustin’s gaming system into the big TV and getting caught up in the competition, and soon they’re all laughing and having fun without a second thought.

The weird thing is, they all kind of mesh well together. Eduardo discusses politics with Chris and debates with Dustin about the merits of movies Mark has never seen, and they both really seem to like him, despite their earlier objections. It kind of makes Mark wonder what it would have been like if Eduardo was their age, and they’d all just met at school or in some other context. He thinks they would have been pretty good friends.

At first, it seems like Eduardo is trying really hard to make a good impression on them, but he seems to relax a little when he realizes that Dustin and Chris’ default setting is to like _everyone._ After all, they like Mark, don’t they? He’s also rigidly keeping a couple of inches of distance between himself and Mark, like he’s uncomfortable with Chris and Dustin around. But Mark isn’t having any of it, edging himself closer and closer to get his head on Eduardo’s shoulder. Eduardo stiffens a little, but then Dustin lets out a screeching battle cry as his character dies, and lops a cushion at Chris, the winner, in retaliation, who growls and punches Dustin in the stomach. Eduardo must realize they’re oblivious and laughs a little, and looks down at Mark with an indulgent smile, and he loosens. The rest of the afternoon, Mark feels much better.

//

Chris and Dustin are much better than their parents were about leaving, since Chris has to work in the morning and Dustin rode with him. They pull Mark aside while Eduardo runs into the kitchen, determined to send them both home with some of the Brazilian coffee cake he made this morning (because… well, Mark doesn’t know why, he just has stupidly good manners like that).

“I see the appeal now,” Chris admits.

“ _Christopher_!” Dustin gasps, scandalized. “Do you have a crush on Mark’s stepbrother too?”

Chris rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, about to defend himself, but Dustin starts dancing and singing and bopping around exaggeratedly to an old eighties song. “Watch out boy, he’ll chew you up!”

Chris shoots Dustin a deadly glare and Dustin’s mouth snaps closed. Then he turns to Mark. “Seriously, Mark, he seems great,” he repeats with a smile.

Mark blushes a little, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. “Um, thanks,” he mumbles, inexplicably embarrassed for some reason.

Chris just claps him on the back affably and Dustin pulls them both into a smothering, bone-crushing hug. Mark bats at Dustin until he lets go, and they separate just as they hear Eduardo’s socked footsteps making their way in. “ _Oooh,_ here he comes!” Dustin sings under his breath, completing the song much to Mark’s annoyance.

Wardo comes bounding back in, brandishing paper bags and ushering in the smell of coffee cake. “Here you go, guys,” he says, handing them off.

“Thanks, man,” Chris says gratefully, shaking Eduardo’s hand.

“Yeah, thank you,” Dustin echoes, also shaking his hand but not letting go. “And, just so you know, if you hurt Mark again, you’ll have _me_ to answer to,” he says, going for threatening, but it just sounds silly coming out of his mouth.

Mark rolls his eyes and tries to hide his mortification. “I’m sure he’s shaking in his boots,” he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

But Eduardo doesn’t pick up on it, meeting Dustin’s gaze with equal sincerity. “Of course,” he promises. “I’m sorry for… I’m going to do my best not to,” Wardo says with all earnestness, fumbling a bit in the middle but seemingly not at all embarrassed.

Which is good, because Mark’s face is flaming, but at least one of them is composed. “That’s enough,” he grumbles, pushing Chris and Dustin towards the door. “Thanks for coming.”

“Bye, Marky Mark!” Dustin calls over his shoulder as they head off toward the driveway, apparently fixed on embarrassing Mark as much as possible while he’s around.

Mark closes the door behind them, leaning up against it and heaving a sigh. Eduardo is looking at him with those same, warms eyes, and his mouth is twitching up in an uncertain smile. “Oh stop it, they loved you,” Mark assures him.

Wardo edges closer, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist. “You think so?” he asks, genuinely sounding anxious about it.

“Please,” Mark says, giving Eduardo his most unimpressed look. “They probably like you more than me at this point. Come on, Wardo, who _wouldn’t_ like you?”

Eduardo goes promptly pink at the words, smile irrepressible. “I like them too,” he murmurs. Then his smile turns teasing as he moves even closer. “I’m glad they _approve_ ,” he says, stressing the word enough to make Mark smile back.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t,” Mark says without thinking. Eduardo’s eyes widen a little at the implied meaning, and Mark’s heart is beating way too fast. Why did he even _say_ that, oh my god, what was he _thinking_ —

But then, to Mark’s surprise, Eduardo’s smile just widens, and he leans in slow and presses their lips together, soft, without lust, just… tender.

And Mark thinks as Eduardo kisses him pressed up against the door, unhurried and passionate. It’s different now that other people know and have seem them together in the way they’ve only allowed themselves to be in private before now. But it doesn’t feel any of the ways Mark expected it to. He doesn’t feel exposed or weird about it in the least. It only feels comfortable, lived-in, easy, warm… If he had to describe it, he’d almost say it feels more real.

Wardo pulls away and tips their foreheads together, reaching for Mark’s hand. “C’mon,” he says, threading their fingers together and pulling him toward the kitchen. “There’s still coffee cake left,” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows at Mark.

“You’re just worried because I didn’t eat breakfast,” Mark replies. Eduardo laughs and doesn’t deny it (because it’s _true_ , his brain insists), but really, Mark doesn’t mind.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, their chairs pushed close together as they finish off the coffee cake. At one point, Eduardo gets up to pour them milk, and Mark’s in the middle of the story about Dustin singing “Maneater,” which makes Wardo laugh so hard he’s red in the face. And then he’s singing it too, dancing around the kitchen animatedly, pulling Mark out of his chair to join him. Mark is breathless with laughter as he complies, letting Eduardo twirl him around the room.

He doesn’t feel like himself, he feels… _better_. He feels so lucky to have something he never thought he would want, even if it hasn’t come in the most ideal or uncomplicated way— that’s not what’s important. What’s important is that he loves Eduardo, and even if Eduardo doesn’t feel the same way, that still counts for something.

//

This time when their parents come back, it’s a lot easier to watch Eduardo leave, because he knows it isn’t over.

It makes him feel …happy. And it’s showing. He has an added bounce of confidence in his walk that he can’t keep out as much as he tries, and people are noticing. Julia asked him why he was smiling so much the other day, and so did his dad—well, he put it a little differently (“Mark, what’s going on with you; I haven’t seen you without a shit-eating grin all week long!”), but it’s the same sentiment.

The weird thing is, he actually isn’t able to go see Eduardo in the next week. They’re both just too busy… Eduardo’s dad is in town for the week, so he’s running around showing him the city and whatnot (which is… whatever, Mark doesn’t like the thought of Eduardo trying so hard to please that asshole, but there’s nothing he can do about it). So Mark splits time between summer assignments and coding.

It’s boring, and he misses Eduardo, but not like before. It’s not an anxious kind of missing; it doesn’t make anything seize up in his chest when he thinks about it. It’s easier to think about, only a little bit wistful, like when he’s watching the soap opera in the afternoons (okay, this is his life now, he keeps up with a soap opera, he’s made peace with it) and just thinks, _“oh wow, Eduardo would freak out at that_ ”, even though Mark knows he’s probably not watching it. It’s not quite detached, but it’s manageable; not yet easy but not impossible.

Finally, after a week of puttering around the house and doing a whole lot of nothing, he gets a text from Eduardo on Sunday night.

_my dad just left. come over tomorrow?_

Mark laughs out loud when he gets it. Shit, if he could he’d come over _right now_ ; there’s no question he’ll be over tomorrow. So he texts back _of course_ , and goes to bed with excitement tingling through him.

//

The next morning, he’s standing outside the door to Eduardo’s appointment, his dad watching from the curb to make sure he gets in. He has to physically stop himself from jumping up and down slightly on his toes to get out some of this trembling thrill running through him. He presses the button quickly, and the response is immediate.

“Mark,” Eduardo’s voice comes over the speaker. It crackles with static, but it still makes Mark’s pulse quicken, and he bites down on his lower lip to tamp down on the grin threatening to break through on his face.

“Yeah,” Mark replies, unable to keep the edge of pleasure out of his voice.

“I’ll let you up,” Eduardo says, and then there is a buzz. Mark does bounce a little now, practically flying towards the door and throwing it open. He sprints up the stairs to Eduardo’s floor, letting out a heaving breath as he stands in front of Eduardo’s door. He shakes his limbs out a little, trying to calm himself down, but it doesn’t really work.

Mark raps three times on Eduardo’s door, and immediately hears from inside, “Come in.”

He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and turning slowly to see Eduardo doing the same, moving to face him from the kitchen.

The apartment smells good, sweet like sugar, and Mark can tell immediately that Eduardo is baking something. He notes quickly that the apartment is almost spotless, like Eduardo’s scrubbed every surface until it shines, and there’s still the sharp, lingering smell of cleaning product.

But all of that falls away when he sees Eduardo’s face—beaming at him like he’s the only thing in the room, eyes bright and smile wide, blush staining his cheeks, and _so,_ so gorgeous. “Hey,” Eduardo says, already sounding breathless, but it’s okay because Mark knows he’s probably the same.

“Hey,” he replies, sounding just as delighted.

For a minute they just stand there, grinning at each other contentedly. They both know where they’re headed, and while they’re a little restless to get there, Mark’s willing to take the time to enjoy this moment too.

But then Eduardo’s crossing the room, heading straight for him in quick strides. Mark starts walking too, and they crash into each other in the middle of the living room.

Their teeth clack together and their limbs tangle, already out-of-breath but unwilling to come up for air. It’s almost violent with franticness, all-consuming and burning from inside as Eduardo’s tongue works its way inside his mouth with claiming intensity. Mark nips at his lower lip in response, and Eduardo makes a keening sound, pulling away for half a second to breathe, and then diving back in, one hand snaking around Mark and settling on the small of his back, pushing him impossibly closer. His other hand moves from where it’s cupping Mark’s face around to his neck, his short fingernails scratching lightly at the base of Mark’s skull, sending shivers down his spine. Mark feels dizzy with want, clutching at Eduardo’s hips and letting out a broken, desperate gasp.

He doesn’t even register that they’re moving until he feels the bed hit the back of his knees, so he quickly toes off his shoes and lets himself fall back upon it. Eduardo doesn’t follow, lingers for just a second, looking down at Mark with such rapt attention it makes Mark’s heart skip a beat. He moves forward lithely, graceful as he brackets Mark’s calves with his shins, cupping his face with both hands and drawing him up to kiss him slow. He runs his hands slowly down to Mark’s waist, tugging at the bottom of his tee shirt and waiting for Mark to raise his arms. He inches it up, waiting until the last minute to disconnect their mouths and pull it off. He runs his warm hands over Mark’s skin, moving slow like they’re stuck in thick molasses.

It’s a different type of intensity than before, but no less heady. Mark doesn’t quite get it, or know what made them like this; if it was their time apart or the relief that it isn’t over between them this time or _what_. They’ve done this giddy and possessive and wild, or frantic and needy, but never like this, never so yearning and just… _intimate_. It makes something catch in his throat, and he has to reach out and _touch_. He strips Eduardo of his shirt with the same careful movements, hands trembling with the feeling he refuses to say out loud or even _think_ , no longer newfound or earth-shattering now but never so possible as right now. Wardo reaches for his hands afterwards, threading their fingers together for a long moment, tipping forward gently so that Mark’s back hits the sheets with a soft bounce. Wardo runs his thumb lightly over Mark’s wrist, and he hopes fleetingly that Wardo can’t feel the way his pulse pounding.

Eduardo runs his hands down Mark’s arms and continues skimming lightly, bracketing his ribs as he presses unhurried open-mouthed kisses along his chest, dipping his tongue into Mark’s belly button, and then working off his pants, doing the same with his underwear immediately afterward.

“Wardo, you… _oh_ , you too,” he manages around a moan as Eduardo licks delicately around the head of his dick. He reaches up to try and help rid Eduardo of his pants and thin boxer-briefs, but Eduardo holds him down with a firm hand in the middle of his chest. He lets go to undo the tie with slow, fumbling fingers, and then pushes his pajama pants and boxers down at once, keeping his eyes locked on Mark’s the whole time, magnetic. Mark can’t look away—it’s like that thing they say about a car crash, but this makes _so_ much more sense in Mark’s brain. Because who wants to look at something fiery and horrible like that, it’s just morbid—but anyone who would look away from Wardo right now is just an idiot.

The hot pull in his stomach tightens when Eduardo, now naked and all smooth, tanned lines, settles himself between Mark’s legs, blowing him at an excruciating, snail-like pace. Mark is coming apart underneath him, twisting the sheets in his fingers. He pulls on that familiar mop of hair, trying to let Wardo know, but he just makes an encouraging sound, still hollowing his cheeks and sucking harder. He gives Eduardo’s hair another tug, more insistent this time and accompanied with a broken groan, and Eduardo pulls off, brushing his lips over the knob of Mark’s knee.

“Come on Mark, come on, you can come,” he murmurs into the skin, and Mark lets out a little breathy noise. Wardo ducks back down, taking Mark as far as back as he can, swirling his tongue around at the same time, and Mark’s hips jolt up of their own accord. He feels  
his cock hit the back of Wardo’s throat, and he comes just like that, almost a surprise, like a  
punch in the gut, Eduardo swallowing.

Mark shudders through the aftershocks, breathy and lacking composure, unaware of everything until he feels a cool, slick fingertip circling his entrance. He lets out another moan, and briefly contemplates how ridiculous this is. He just came and he’s hard _again_ — he’s not even sure he ever fully softened. Then Wardo edges one inside, and Mark sucks in a breath, his knees drawing up. It seems like an eternity before there are two. “Three, Wardo, do three,” he begs , but Eduardo continues to take his time, because it’s been a while and Mark is tight. Eventually he relents, pushing in a third finger, but the relief is short; Eduardo is brushing his prostate over and over and over, and Mark is thrusting back onto his fingers, and he knows he can’t take much more of this.

He pushes his heels into the sheets. “Wardo, _Wardo_ ,” he pleads, every nerve in his body on edge. “Inside me, _please_ , want you inside me,” he slurs, and Eduardo lets out a groan and bites at the junction of Mark’s hip and thigh. His fingers slip out, and Mark feels a sudden emptiness, letting out a broken noise. Eduardo shushes him with kisses while his hand scrambles in the bedside table drawer. He sits on his knees to roll the condom on and slick himself, and then he’s working a pillow under Mark’s hips and lining himself up.

“ _Mark_ ,” he says, voice thick with emotion, and Mark pries his eyes open and fixes them on Eduardo’s face, taking in the flush that reaches down to his chest and dark, hooded eyes, and their gazes don’t break as he pushes inside.

They let out a groan at the same time and Mark squeezes his eyes closed momentarily to focus on the feeling, but then lets them fly open again. They’ve done this a lot, all sorts of different ways: Mark on his hands and knees, both of them curled up on their sides, Mark riding him—but this is always Mark’s favorite, getting to see Eduardo’s face as he hovers above him. He moves in shallow, careful strokes, and then he’s fully seated inside and able to lean down against Mark’s body, pressed up against every part of him.

Wardo’s still moving slow, _slowslowslow_ , and Mark keeps saying, “More, faster, Wardo— _god_ ,” but Eduardo just keeps pace, fucking him slowly into the bed, making the springs creak obscenely. It may not be what Mark had in mind or what he’s asking for, but _fuck_ it’s working. He wants so badly to come, doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything this much ever. His cock is an angry red, flushed and drooling, but he doesn’t move to touch himself, because this is too good and he wants to memorize it.

“Do you think you can—again?” Wardo asks, and Mark nods, biting his lip hard enough so that he tastes blood. “Without…” Wardo starts, but then he trails off. He doesn’t need to finish, they both know what he means. Mark’s not certain that he can, but maybe… Maybe he could, he’s so close, and this is stupid because he’s about to come _again_ and Wardo still hasn’t come once.

Wardo kisses him, licks into his mouth, and rubs his palms down Mark’s sides, skin dragging across skin. Then he moves them back up, still crawling, deliberate, just as slow as he’s fucking Mark. He thumbs a nipple, and Mark lets out a _sob_ , pushing his sweaty face into Eduardo’s neck, arching and coming again, this time untouched.

He feels himself clench around Wardo, who groans and kisses Mark’s neck, biting there just a little, but not picking up speed at all. Mark has no idea how Wardo’s possibly controlling himself like this; it’s practically superhuman, but he doesn’t think about it long—Eduardo’s still pushing into him, steady, and he’s whining on every thrust, overstimulated and shaking and feeling _so damn good_.

Finally, Wardo’s hips stutter, pulse once, then twice, and he cries out as he comes, the sound drifting off into a silent scream. He lies on top of Mark as he comes down, his weight warm and pleasant as he tries to catch his breath. Then he moves his head, nudging his nose into Mark’s cheek, and kissing him as he pulls out. Mark winces a little and tries not to think about how he feels shatteringly incomplete now without them fused together everywhere, like they were _made_ for that.

Wardo reaches off the side of the bed to tie the condom off and drop it into the trash, but then he’s pressing up against Mark’s side again, brushing the curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to Mark’s temple.

Mark feels like they should talk about that—whatever _that_ was that just happened, because it was definitely uncharted territory for them. Not that he’s complaining, but he’s just… confused. It’s always been just sex for Wardo, that’s all this ever was, but _that_ felt like…

“Wardo,” he exhales, turning his head to the side.

“Hm?” Wardo hums, but that’s as far as Mark gets because he can’t work his eyes open. He’s too spent and too sleepy, too blissed to have this conversation at the moment, and he can feel himself drifting off into sleep, Wardo’s gentle laugh trailing behind him.

Just before he surrenders completely, he thinks he feels the ghost of Wardo’s touch caress his cheekbones, and then he thinks that perhaps he feels a kiss on his forehead, but he can’t be sure. The only thing he _knows_ is the feeling of Eduardo tangling their fingers together with one hand, using the other to draw Mark closer into his arms.

//

He wakes a while later, the sheets cold beside him. He has passed out in Wardo’s bed enough times now that it doesn’t worry him, anymore, when he wakes up that way. He’s always going to prefer seeing Wardo beside him, but it’s okay when he doesn’t happen—he knows he isn’t far.

So he rolls over and gets out of bed, pulling his boxers on and stumbling out to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes blearily. And there he is, sitting at the table, looking up when he hears Mark’s soft footsteps, and smiling reflexively at him.

“Morning,” he says, kicking a chair out for Mark. He glances at the clock. “Or should I say afternoon?”

Mark smirks back at him, sitting down. “I don’t appreciate the snark,” he says, trying to keep his voice even, but he can’t help the teasing edge from slipping through.

“ _Please_ ,” Eduardo drawls, leaning forward conspiratorially so he can cover Mark’s hand with his own. “You are _all about_ snark.”

Mark bites down on his lower lip, but his grin is impossible to suppress. He focuses on the table so he doesn’t have to face Wardo.

It’s kind of amazing how they can know each other so well now, and Wardo can still do this to him—especially since Mark is usually _so good_ at keeping his guard up, making sure that no one makes him like this… But for Wardo it’s just so easy to blow past Mark’s defenses; it seems like it always has been.

For a moment, he considers bringing it up, what just happened. He wants to know if it’s possible that maybe he’s not the only one feeling this way. Maybe he’s not the only one a little bit in love.

He looks up at Wardo’s face, so alight with honest happiness, and it’s almost blinding. He decides right then and there not to. He doesn’t want to _wreck_ this. “Um…” he starts, just for something to say, and then clears his throat. “What were you eating?” he asks, pointing to the empty plate in front of Wardo, littered with small crumbs. He’s sincerely hoping it’s whatever smelled so delicious when he came in… So sweet-smelling with that hint of a kick, something Mark’s come to associate with Brazilian food.

Wardo looks down at the plate on the table like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh!” he exclaims, suddenly putting it together, jumping up and moving towards the oven. “It’s the torte,” he declares, spinning around the face Mark with a coy smile. “We didn’t burn it.”

“What a miracle, since you _jumped_ me,” Mark replies, voice as dry as he can manage. Wardo shoots him a knowing look while he cuts Mark a piece. “Who jumped _who,_ now?” 

“You heard me.”

“Did I?” Eduardo asks in a doubtful tone. “Because people who lie don’t get any torte.” He spoons a dollop of whipped cream on top, dipping his pinky in to taste and popping it into his mouth, sucking on his fingertip deliberately. Mark feels the tips of his ears go red, and finds himself clearing his throat for the second time.

“I suppose it might have been a tie,” he amends, and is rewarded with a grin from Eduardo, which really just makes the whole thing worth it.

Eduardo walks back over and puts the plate in front of Mark, then turning back to get a fork and closing the drawer behind him with his hip. “Damn right it was,” he mutters as he leans down, setting the fork beside the plate and stopping his mouth inches from Mark’s lips.

Mark is really looking forward to trying the delicious smelling torte (he’s not even sure what torte _is_ , but hell if he’s not excited about eating it), but he figures it can wait a minute as he closes the distance between them, smiling into the kiss.

//

They spend the whole day wrapped up in each other, like they need to relearn the feeling of being together after their time apart. There’s torte (which Mark learns is “Brazil nut torte”— Wardo’s favorite when he was younger—and also finds that torte is basically cake, just denser), sex, the soap opera, talking, sleeping, more torte, more _sex_ … Never in his life has Mark ingested this much sugar or had this many orgasms in a ten-hour period.

It has to come to an end eventually though, and his dad is coming by to pick him up on his way back from work. They’re sitting on the couch, Mark’s legs sprawled into Wardo’s lap, laughing about something that happened to Mark while they were apart.

They haven’t talked about Wardo’s dad… Mark hasn’t really brought up the courage to bring it up, and Wardo’s not volunteering anything, so the subject has remained untouched.

But then all of a sudden there’s silence, and Wardo’s face shutters closed. He coughs a little bit, brow furrowed. “Hey. Uh, I um. I want to tell you something.”

He looks very serious, determined to get it out. Mark tries to school his face into a blank expression, because he doesn’t like the way this is going but doesn’t want it to show, in case this is like a painful or difficult story or whatever. But he also doesn’t want to show how _angry_ Eduardo’s dad fucking makes him, because that’s not his place. And, ugh, this is _awful_ —he just wants to help Wardo; why is it so difficult?

“…Okay,” he finally settles on, saying the word slowly after a long pause, and hoping that it at least comes out mildly supportive.

“I should have said it earlier, but I, um… I dunno, I just forgot, I guess,” he admits, blushing and not meeting Mark’s eyes. Mark already doesn’t get it, because it sounds like there’s more there, but it’s okay. He can wait.

Except he really, _really_ can’t, because Eduardo still hasn’t continued and now Mark is getting nervous. “What is it?” he hazards, the words coming out quiet, in a way that he hopes passes more for sensitive than scared.

Wardo takes a breath and speaks. “My dad managed to get me this, like… _amazing_ internship for the rest of the summer, here in the city, part time. I interviewed for it a couple days ago, and it sounded like they want to give it to me, and, well… I’m going to take it.”

Mark’s face breaks out in a grin. “That’s _great_ ,” he says. He may not like Eduardo’s dad, but he is genuinely happy for Eduardo since he seems so excited about this (plus, he may be just a little bit excited that that’s all this conversation was).

“Yeah,” Eduardo breathes, sounding relieved. “But—er, that’s not the thing.” 

“Oh,” Mark replies, trying not to give away his confusion.

Eduardo emits a nervous laugh. “The thing is… My dad also set me up on this, um. This date?” he says, his voice lilting up at the end like it’s a question, and he rubs at the back of his neck.

He can feel himself freezing, and he swears he hears all the blood rushing in his body.

A _date_? He needs a moment to process this information, because—because just _no_ ; Eduardo on a date, Eduardo _with someone else_ is not something Mark wants to think about. But Eduardo’s rambling, _still talking about it_ , and Mark tries to tune in to listen.

“It’s this girl named Christy, and apparently she’s going to be an intern too. We’re going out on Wednesday, and she sounds really nice from what I’ve heard, but—but I just wanted to tell you about it.” Eduardo finally looks up at Mark and worries at his lower lip. His voice sounds more desperate, almost pleading when he speaks again. “I don’t want to go, Mark, I _don’t_ … But, it’s not like I can say _no_ ; my dad knows I’m not dating anyone, at least not openly, and so it’s not like I can use that as an excuse, and if I just say I’m not interested then it’s going to come out as defiant, or worse, ungrateful, since he just got me this _awesome_ job and this apartment for the summer, and… And you understand, right?” he asks, looking very, _very_ nervous.

Mark swallows, trying to sound as composed as he can. He’s going to say yes, of course, no big deal, except… Except this kind of _is_ a big deal, because this is Wardo. Wardo, who Mark has opened up with more than anyone, who knows Mark better than Chris or Dustin and who Mark admires and trusts and so, so much more—and this is Wardo showing him that he obviously doesn’t feel the same. Mark is immediately _so glad_ that he didn’t bring up what happened before, because he was obviously imagining the tenderness and intimacy in that. If Wardo was in love with him too, he wouldn’t—god, he couldn’t _make love_ to Mark like that and then tell him he’s going on a date with someone else.

“No,” he says, and it comes out all at once in a whooshing breath. “No, I don’t get it at all.”

Wardo looks surprised, and a little hurt, and Mark knows he should stop and go back, but he just can’t shut up.

“Wardo, your dad… Why are you letting him do this to you?”

Eduardo’s face immediately goes defensive, primed for an argument. “You don’t _know_ , Mark—”

“ _Yes_ , I do,” he says, eyes wide, hoping it will sink in just how much Mark knows about feeling like you’re not good enough for your parent, how being disappointed that their love so obviously _wasn’t_ unconditional like it was supposed to be. “I know all about feeling like you have to earn his approval or his love or whatever—”

“What the hell, Mark, this is _so_ not what this is about—” He’s a little angry now, and shoves Mark’s feet off his lap, not hard, just like he can’t really be touching Mark right now.

“Then why are you _doing_ this? You said yourself; you don’t want to go… And it’s not like he can take the job away from you. Really, what can he do if you say no? You’re twenty, Wardo, you can’t let him keep running your life like this or else he’ll do it forever—”

“He is _not_ running my life,” Wardo cuts in, cheeks aflame, but Mark just keeps pushing. He’s probably an idiot for doing it, but he just wants Wardo to understand. But he’s so stubbornly not even trying to hear what Mark has to say and it’s making Mark a little angry too.

“You know what I think, then?” he tries, tone biting and mean, something he’s _never_ been with Wardo. “I think you’re a fucking _coward_ for not standing up to him, Wardo—” 

“ _Fuck_ you!”

“And you know what? I don’t even know why you’re telling me any this; it’s not like we’re _dating_ or anything—this is just about sex. You can go fuck whoever you want, for all I care.”

Wardo’s face goes defenseless for a minute, like he wasn’t expecting that, but a second later the expression is gone, and he’s back to that stone-like, fierce gaze, mouth set in a thin line. “ _Fine_ , you know what, I will. I’ll go on that date and maybe I will _fuck_ Christy, or whoever else I want, because it’s none of your business anyway,” he finishes, as raging as Mark’s ever seen him.

“ _Good_ ,” Mark bites back, because he’s just as stubborn. His phone vibrates once beside him—he doesn’t need to check it to know it’s his dad, waiting for him outside. He practically flies off the couch, storming over to the door. “Have fun with that,” he taunts, just to have the last word, refusing to look back and slamming the door shut behind him.

Mark is silent the whole way home, and this time he just doesn’t even try to stop from feeling like the world is ending. He’s messed this up with Wardo again, and he’s not even being dramatic when he thinks that this is the worst one yet. It doesn’t seem fixable. He may have lost Wardo. So for all Mark cares, the world might as well be ending.

//

In the following days, Mark doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s generally irritable and taciturn and biting, depending on his mood that day and whether or not he’s leaning more towards quiet self-pity or wanting to lash out. His dad tries to ask him what’s wrong more than once, until Mark finally snaps at him sharply enough that he stops. Julia just hedges around him, obviously worried but not wanting to push.

Dustin and Chris, on the other hand, have more or less figured out what’s happened without even having to ask. They just nod at him a bit sadly and don’t touch the subject.  
But then Wednesday has come and gone, and then Thursday, and Mark feels like he’s starting to lose it. He’s hanging out with Chris and Dustin—though, “hanging out” is kind of a generous term, seeing as Dustin and Chris are playing video games and Mark is sulking in the corner.

And the thing is, it feels like a fucking _weight_ pressing down on his chest, the thought that Eduardo went out with that girl and Mark doesn’t know when he’s going to see him, let alone get a chance to really _talk_ to him. The saddest thing is, none of it, not even Mark’s depressing imaginings of how well Eduardo’s date went last night (because seriously, who _wouldn’t_ like Eduardo), can make the feelings stop. He still wants Eduardo, still… still _loves_ him, despite the ugly words they said to each other and the date Eduardo went on and just _all_ of it.

He must look like he’s having an inner mental breakdown, because all of the sudden Mark looks up and the game is paused, and Chris and Dustin are looking at him very anxiously. “Mark?” Chris asks cautiously, leaning toward him with a furrowed brow.

Just like that, everything comes pouring out. The entire story of what happened, from Eduardo’s dad’s trip, and the sex, and the stupidly domestic day they’d had, and then Eduardo’s date. They’re silent the entire time, listening with deliberately blank faces, and then Mark is just about done and he heaves a deep breath.

“The dumbest part of the whole thing is that I’m not even mad at him anymore, I don’t even care if he went out with Christy or if he slept with her or _whatever_ —I just, I miss him, and I think I lo—”

Dustin makes a dramatic screeching, gaspy noise, flailing his hand around in a stopping motion and covering his own mouth. Chris looks blindsided too, but not as ridiculous as Dustin.

“Mark,” Chris says very slowly. “Were you just about to say—”

“ _Oh my god, Mark loves him!_ ” Dustin exclaims, throwing both his hands above his head like he’s about to start a victory chant.

Mark stares at him, completely agape. “Was that necessary?”

Dustin punches him on his upper arm and bounces up and down in place. “Yes it was, and you know why? It’s because _you’re in love with him you idiot!_ ”

“Dustin,” Chris says calmly, like he’s talking to a crazy person or trying not to spook a horse. “I promise you, I am just as excited for Mark on the inside as you are on the outside, but you really need to tone it down.”

So Dustin has to bite down on his hand to contain himself, and then Chris starts talking in a very composed and steady voice. “Mark, I know we’ve had our reservations about this relationship in the past but… Mark, if all of that is really true, if you really do _love_ him—”

“Then _go fix this_ , you moron!” Dustin cheers, tackling Mark in an attack hug.

Chris breaks into giggles and Dustin is still squealing, and it’s all very undignified but Mark can’t help it—he laughs. The concept itself is still scary, but hey, Chris and Dustin believe in him, and somehow that makes it all that much more possible.

//

Dustin drives him to the city in his mom’s minivan, asking him a million questions on the way. Mark answers them all but gives very little away, mostly because he's just really grateful that Dustin is willing to give him a ride and he won't have to deal with Chris giving him advice the whole way over.

They make a quick stop once they're in the city, but Mark darts in and out to get what he needs fast enough that it doesn't make much of a difference. So before he knows it they're outside Eduardo's apartment building, and he doesn't feel _anywhere_ close to ready for this.

He should have thought of preparing something beforehand so that he doesn't look like a bumbling idiot when he gets in there, but he was just too overwhelmed to really think about it. Now he regrets it with the way his stomach is churning nervously, and Dustin must see it with the way he's looking at him.

It's an expression Mark is more familiar with seeing on Chris; it's a combination of concern and annoyance, but it’s mixed with fondness, and maybe a little bit of pride. "Mark," he says in a genuine, serious voice. "It's gonna work out fine; I promise. Just... Be honest."

If this was any other situation, Mark would be making a sarcastic remark or rolling his eyes right now. But he feels so out of his depth with everything, all he can manage is a grateful nod and a somber, "Thanks, Dustin."

He regrets it the moment it's out of his mouth, because Dustin's jaw flaps down like a puppet and he pretends to tear up, waving his hand in front of his face like a Miss America contestant. "Did you just thank me? Oh god, they grow up so _fast_ —”

Now, he doesn't hesitate to roll his eyes and scowl as he gets out of the car. "Shut up," he manages, but Dustin just cackles as Mark makes his way to the door.

He doesn't want to give Eduardo a chance to turn him away, so he sneaks in behind someone and takes the stairs to Eduardo's floor. Once there, he allows himself thirty seconds of absolute, soul-crushing panic before knocking.

"Just a second!" Eduardo calls from inside, and Mark mentally thanks every god or deity he can think of that Eduardo is home. He would have waited on his doorstep if he had to, but this just makes things so much easier.

The door swings open and there is Eduardo, whose jaw immediately goes slack and his eyes go round. "Mark, I—"

"I wanted to talk to you," Mark says, pushing past Eduardo so he can get inside. It's not just because he wants to get everything out before he loses his nerve, it's also because he doesn't want to hear Eduardo's thoughts. For all Mark knows, they're about Christy or how he shouldn't see Mark anymore or something else equally terrifying.

Eduardo looks baffled but follows, closing the door behind him and turning to face Mark, but not moving from his side of the room.

Mark drops the bag on the couch and heaves out a sigh, pinching his nose between his fingers and trying to figure out where to start. He looks at Eduardo, wishing for some sort of hint, but only sees nervous, hurt eyes. And suddenly, Mark knows exactly what to say.

"Wardo," he starts, "I'm sorry about the other day." "Mark, you don't have to apologize, really—”

"Yes, I do," Mark cuts in immediately, watching Eduardo's face morph into a surprised expression. "I said some terrible things to you, and there's no excuse for that. I didn't—  
Wardo, you _have_ to know that I didn't mean them—but, that doesn't change the fact that I said them and I'm sorry."

Eduardo looks at him, a little flabbergasted. He steps forward into Mark’s space, thumbing the bruising under his eyes. Mark has missed the contact and a little thrill runs through his skin. Eduardo looks so worried, so concerned, and it makes something catch in Mark's throat to see.

His eyelids flutter shut, and then Eduardo's thumbs are running soothingly over those too. "Mark," he murmurs, sounding broken. Mark lets out a tiny sound in response. It's not meant to mean anything, but somehow it must make Eduardo remember himself, or possibly, the last time Mark came to confront him at his apartment and where that ended up. Because next thing, he's clearing his throat and stepping back as Mark opens his eyes. They're no longer touching, but still at close distance.

Mark takes a steadying breath and tries, "How was your date with Christy?"

Eduardo's face shutters closed a little, and he looks fixedly at the floor. "It was... I dunno. Fine, I guess."

Mark lets out a jerky nod and digs his nails into his palm, trying not to think horrible, jealous thoughts about Christy. He clears his throat and tries to form the words again, but they don't come.

And it all just feels so stupid, because here they are skirting around the edges of each other again—something Mark hated the first time and still can't stand now. He needs to man up, say it, just _do_ something. He's so angry at himself that he can barely see straight, but at the same time he's possibly more scared than he's ever been in his entire life.

He lets out a sigh, walking around and flopping down onto the couch. Eduardo follows tentatively, perching down on the far end like he's afraid Mark doesn't want him there. Which is just... ludicrous. He doesn't know how to make it clear to Wardo, but Mark can't think of a time when he's ever _not_ going to want him around. Because... _because_.

"Wardo," he tries again. "I'm really sorry for the way I acted the other day. It was— _I_ was just... jealous."

Eduardo's eyes go wide like saucers at the word, and his mouth curves down slightly into a small frown. He opens his mouth to respond, but Mark has to get this all out; he needs Eduardo to know everything.

"Look, Wardo... We always said this was, you know, just about sex. But for me—it’s not. I don't know if it ever was. I... I _like you_ , Wardo," he admits, chancing a look up at him. His face has softened a little now, no longer completely closed off, but still not himself.

"I like you. More than I should, really. I, I love you, Wardo," he confesses, getting the words out all at once. Eduardo's breath hitches, but Mark can't look at him or else he'll lose all his nerve. "And I don't just mean as a stepbrother, or as a friend. I mean that I love you. I'm _in love_ with you," he finishes, finally caving in and meeting Eduardo’s gaze.  
And it hurts. He looks so… so _conflicted_ , and all it’s doing is confirming all of Mark’s greatest fears. _He’s gonna say no, he’s gonna think you’re a freak, he’s going to say he can’t ever see you again, he’s going to tell you he fucked Christy_ …

So he rambles, trying to say anything, _anything_ , to get that look off Eduardo’s face. “I don’t know when it started, honestly. Like, I knew I had a crush on you the first time I met you, and then the more I got to know you it just got worse and _worse_ and so I decided sleeping with you would cure me of it, right? Well, turns out Chris was right because it was pretty much the worst idea in the history of… well, ever, because it didn’t cure me of them, at all, they only got worse—”

“Mark.”

“—and then you left and everything _sucked_ , because I thought it was over, and I didn’t think that there was any possible way it could happen after that, but _somehow_ I managed to trick you into it all _again_ —”

“ _Mark—_ ”

“—and then things are _good_ between us, like… the best they’ve ever been, but somehow I manage to convince myself that they can stay that way. Not to mention we have sex, like, _mindblowing_ sex, and after it’s over I think that maybe I’m not completely deluded in thinking that you like me too, but of course not! You go out with _Christy_ , who is probably sweet and cute and, just— _everything_ I’m not, not to mention _your age_ and _a girl_ and _not your future stepsibling_ , but I’m stupid and _still_ can’t let it go, so here I am—”

“ _Mark_!” Eduardo finally cuts him off, shocking him into silence with hands on Mark’s shoulders and shaking him just a little. Eduardo makes a frustrated sound when Mark still won’t meet his eyes, and tilts his chin up with two fingers.

He sees Eduardo’s eyes, welled with tears, and a trembling smile on his face. Mark’s brow furrows because this does not compute, why is Eduardo looking at him like that before he breaks his heart?

“ _God_ ,” Eduardo says, half a laugh, a tear or two spilling over. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

Mark’s brow furrows as he opens his mouth, about to ask him what he means by that, but then Eduardo is kissing him.

Mark lets out a surprised noise into Eduardo’s mouth, because this is _not_ the reaction he was expecting, not at all, but then his brain quickly stops thinking completely. He can feel Eduardo’s tongue in his mouth, sweet and pure, completely unhurried. Eduardo’s tears are wet on his face, which should be unpleasant or gross but somehow just _isn’t_. It feels unexpectedly amazing.

Eduardo’s hands have migrated to his hair, grasping for purchase in the curls near Mark’s neck. He’s swallowing up every last one of Mark’s sounds and replacing them with his own, these hysterical, frenzied, half-aborted noises, so _full_ of an emotion Mark can’t even name.

He pulls back, breathing heavily, grin wide and eyes a little wild. Mark still feels confused. Not as much as before, because yeah, he’s pretty sure he can’t misinterpret _that_ , but he just never even considered that it was in the realm of possibility at all.

It must show on his face, because Eduardo laughs again. It’s not unkind but it is a little disbelieving, like something about this is mystifying him too.

“I’m glad this is so amusing to you,” Mark finally says, just to say _something_ —maybe get Eduardo talking—meaning to deliver the words with a bite of sarcasm but missing by a mile.

Eduardo hiccups at the end of his laughter, still somewhat delirious, and blushes a little as he looks steadily at Mark’s t-shirt. “I just… you’re _so wrong_ , Mark,” he says, looking up at him. He’s practically beaming with it. “Your entire interpretation of events is just— _so_ wrong.”

“Fine, then,” Mark says stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me.”

“Well,” Eduardo drawls, shimmying so that he’s laid out across the couch, chest on Mark’s legs, propping his head up on his hand and looking up at Mark impishly. “First of all, I agree with Chris. Sleeping with someone is a really _stupid_ way to get rid of feelings.”

Mark barks out a surprised laugh. “Yeah,” he admits, smirking a little at himself. “I realize that now.”

“And,” he continues, coloring a little as he fidgets with the hem of Mark’s tee. “You never had to trick me into any of it, Mark. I’m just not good at staying away from you.”

Mark blushes a little now too, smile growing and feeling overly giddy, but absolutely refusing to take his eyes off Eduardo’s face.

Eduardo’s own expression has dimmed a little now, and he’s still staring fixedly at Mark’s shirt. “Also, I never went out with Christy.”

Mark can feel his eyes bug out at the words. “What?” he asks, the word fast and clipped. “But you said—”

“I know,” Eduardo replies, shaking his head microscopically. “I lied before. I just… I couldn’t go. I tried, but I just… _couldn’t_. I called her and said I was sick, and then I sat on the couch and tried to do the crossword alone and failed and just—mostly I ended up feeling sorry for myself,” he declares with a huff of breath. He looks up at Mark, and his expression looks devastated, just blown apart. “I’m sorry. Not just for lying but also for how I acted the other day, because… because I was horrible to you, and no matter what you say you’ll never, _ever_ deserve that, okay, and I don’t even understand why you came back after that, I feel _awful_ and I’m so sorry—”

“ _Wardo_ ,” Mark exhales. “Why are you—don’t be sorry, _god_. I was terrible to you too, okay, and you had every right to push back. You’re not the only bad guy in this. And… as for the other thing, I’d rather you had lied about going than having actually gone and figured out how ridiculously perfect she is for you and how much happier you’d be with her in the long run compared to me.”

Eduardo casts his eyes downward again as he chuckles, but doesn’t seem to fully commit to it, like he’s still holding onto something. “See, that’s the thing though, Mark. That’s what you don’t understand.”

“What?” Mark asks, inexplicably breathless all of a sudden.

“You weren’t imagining anything,” Eduardo murmurs, still ducking Mark’s gaze. “You weren’t deluded like you said. I was—I am. Mark, I’m kind of in love with you too,” he finishes, _finally_ looking up. He looks nervous now for some reason Mark _cannot_ fathom.

Mark can’t hold back his smile anymore, so he stops trying. “Good,” he admits. “Yeah,” Eduardo agrees aimlessly, smile tenuously breaking out too.  
“Glad we got that straightened out,” Mark says, all false nonchalance.

But Wardo can tell, and is now beaming at Mark again, brilliant and bright and luminous. He lets out a small giggle, eyes welling up again, and this time Mark follows. Soon both their stomachs are shaking with laughter and they’re doubled over, and Mark feels lighter than he has since this whole thing started—like they’re standing on the edge of possibility, everything unfurling in front of them.

Once they catch their breath, he looks at Eduardo, still grinning, and the same thought he’s been trying to banish throughout the whole thing drums through his head once again. _He’s beautiful_.

Only, Mark doesn’t have any reason to suppress that particular thought now, and so he lets himself feel it. He blinks for a moment, trying to calm his rapidly pounding heartbeat, but giving in to the far more tempting option of leaning forward and kissing Wardo.

Wardo gasps into it, but it’s not one of surprise, it’s one of _delight_ , and it makes Mark smile into the kiss himself. His hand clutches at Eduardo’s shirt, fisting there, and the other lies lightly on his neck, thumb caressing his cheek. Now Eduardo is smiling into it too, and it’s a sloppy, lazy kiss—technically subpar, but the intimacy of it is thrilling as the warmth of happiness spreads throughout Mark’s entire body.

Mark kisses him hungrily, giddy and lightheaded. Eduardo pulls away to breathe before long, looking deliciously flushed and rumpled and so blissful. “Can we…” he asks, trailing off.

But Mark gets the picture, grinning back a little bit lecherously (so what if he’s eager now?). “Bed?” he finishes, and Eduardo nods vehemently. Mark laughs in agreement, and tugs them both up as they make their way over to Eduardo’s room.

//

It isn’t until afterward when they’re both lying on their sides, Eduardo curled around Mark, drawing circles on Mark’s hip with a dragging fingertip, when reality starts to come back to them. It’s still hot of course, now that they’re in the thick of summer, the heat coloring them pink. The light of late afternoon is falling all over them, tinting it all with a soft, content yellow.

“What are we gonna do?” Eduardo whispers, and then immediately winces. Mark rolls over so they’re facing each other, and lifts a hand to smooth over the wrinkled lines of Eduardo’s brow. Eduardo’s lips tilt up in a small smile immediately, but his eyes are still serious. “I mean, I know, I don’t want to ruin the moment, but… How is _this_ —” he gestures to the space between them, “ _ever_ going to work?”

Mark sighs, pursing his lips. He’s silent for a minute, because he _has_ thought about it, in the times when he felt masochistic enough to imagine a future with Eduardo, the one he was too afraid to admit he wanted. And it seems ridiculous, but it’s all so new and—he’s _still_ afraid of scaring Eduardo away.

“Well,” he begins, trying to sound as casual as possible as he looks into Eduardo’s expectant face. “I know… I know sixteen and twenty sounds like a big difference, but—but what about eighteen and twenty-two? Or twenty and twenty-four? It’s… it seems like less, right?”

Wardo is looking at him interestedly, like he’s not quite sure how to respond. “You mean… we wait?” he asks, tone and face carefully indecipherable.

“Yeah,” Mark replies, looking down and fiddling with Eduardo’s fingers. “I know it isn’t, like _ideal_ , but… I think it’s kind of our best option. And if we slip, if our parents find out… It’ll take time, but I think eventually they’ll come around.”

When he looks back up at Eduardo, it’s much the same expression he saw there earlier— careful excitement and a little bit of disbelief. “ _Mark_ ,” he says, voice full of feeling. “You would… you would do that? Wait? For _me_?” The last part comes out as a bit of a squeak, making Mark roll his eyes fondly.

“Of course Wardo, you’re— _god_ , how are you so ridiculous? _Yes,_ jesus, Wardo, yes—mmph!”

The words are swallowed up in a kiss, desperate and broken and _perfect_. So when Eduardo pulls away he whimpers petulantly at the loss of contact, which makes Eduardo’s shining eyes brighten even more. “I love you,” he says, his voice wavering but smile dazzling. Then he lets out a choked half-laugh. “God, Mark—I love you.”

Mark scoffs a little at that, because it’s not like he’s doing anything special. Somehow Eduardo reads his mind, though, and starts speaking again before Mark can. “No, look—I know it’s going to be hard, okay, because you’re sixteen and there’s just so much to come, but just the fact that you’re willing to try, _for me_ , is kind of amazing all by itself.”

Mark shakes his head, absolutely convinced. “No, Wardo,” he replies, burning with conviction. “For _you._ ” It’s the same thing Wardo himself just said, but Mark changes the tone, makes it something wondrous instead of incredulous. He squeezes Eduardo’s hand in his and smiles, small and affectionate—but he means so much; he means _everything_.

Wardo grins back, kisses Mark quickly and then tucks his face into Mark’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. Mark doesn’t think Eduardo really has anything to thank him _for_ , but hey—Rome wasn’t built in a day. He was plenty of time to convince Eduardo of that.

Then, a half-forgotten thought jolts through him like electricity. “Hold on,” he says, scrambling up and pulling on boxers.

“Mark?” Wardo asks, sitting up too, his voice still sounding a little raw around the edges. “Just a second!” he calls over his shoulder, making his way to the couch and picking up the bag he dropped there earlier.

He runs back into the bedroom and shuffles back onto the bed, ignoring the confused look Eduardo is giving him. He digs through the plastic bag, finally grabbing the book and pulling it out, handing it to Eduardo.

Eduardo’s eyes grow wide, and he takes it with careful hands. He touches it around the edges, like someone would with a photograph they don’t want to get fingerprints on. “This is…” he says, voice awed and amazed.

“It’s the book,” Mark says. “The weather photography book, from that shop you took me to,” he clarifies, rolling his eyes at his own sappiness. Eduardo’s face is so open, so surprised, that Mark doesn’t even know what to make of it.

“I don’t know, it just seemed like you liked it, a lot, and… I wanted to leave you with something, even if you said no to all this, because I wanted you to remember us like that. Because—well. That was kind of one of the best days of my life, and I—”

Eduardo leans forward, cupping Mark’s face with one hand and kissing him, slow, practically melting into him. There’s a ghost of a broken noise at the back of Mark’s throat, a little overwhelmed.

Eduardo pulls back and tips their foreheads together. “Mine too,” he whispers in the very small space between them, “That day, it was—mine too,” he replies, a fragment of a thought really, but Mark understands exactly what he means, without a doubt.

He can see Eduardo’s eyes swimming, and knows that his own are doing the same, which is so unusual for him but kind of beautiful at the same time. “How are you real?” he murmurs back.

Eduardo laughs softly, reaching for one of Mark’s hands and giving it a squeeze. “You know, that’s just what I think about you.”

Mark rolls his eyes, because he can only take so much of this sappiness, but he looks up at Eduardo, so plainly content and beautiful before him, and things, _okay, maybe just a little more_.

“I love you,” he says, because he’s not done saying it yet, isn’t over the way it feels new and miraculous on his tongue. “I really, really do.”

Eduardo gasps happily between them, not surprised anymore but still a little wondrous, like Mark saying it is something miraculous. Apparently he’s still not used to hearing it either, or maybe he still doesn’t quite believe it.

And that’s fine too, Mark thinks as he pulls Wardo into another breathtaking kiss. Mark doesn’t mind convincing him, no matter how long it takes.

//

_Ten months later_

Their parent’s wedding is in June, just about a month past a year since they got engaged. It’s weird; to know how much has come full circle.

It’s at this beautiful venue with deep, rich hardwood floors that make Julia’s heels echo as she walks down the aisle, with her rich white dress trailing behind her. The rows of chairs are connected with simple, champagne colored ribbon, with easter lilies carefully positioned throughout. The back wall behind the altar and the chuppah is entirely made of glass, showing off a lush green lakeside view.

Everything about it is beautiful. Julia is practically glowing and Robert just looks like he still can’t believe this is happening, and they both tear up during the ceremony. Mark can’t stop smiling, and Eduardo beside him alternates between misty eyes and a wide grin too, usually both.

Finally they kiss, and break the glass, and make their way back down the aisle. To an outsider it may just look like a couple getting married, but that’s not how Mark sees it. He sees the four of them becoming an official family at last.

Then there’s the reception, in the adjoining hall for food and then spilling outside as people head towards the dance floor. Robert and Julia have their first dance as husband and wife, which is pretty sweet, but then the DJ starts playing more upbeat music. At first, he’s content to watch Eduardo and other guests dance around to music Mark doesn’t recognize while he says hello a whole bunch of family and friends who come up to greet him. But then the DJ starts playing some Brazilian pop songs, and Eduardo and a large throng of his family members overflow onto the dance floor. Then, he manages to get a little distracted, seeing Eduardo circle his hips and sway, his movements easy and natural and… god, really _sexy_ , especially when he turns his head and sees Mark looking and his eyes turn like, smoldering. Mark has to clear his throat, and he can tell Eduardo catches it by the way his expression turns teasing.

But even that only lasts so long, once the DJ plays the electric slide and the Macarena and Eduardo drags Mark out there, ignoring his protests. Dancing is not Mark’s favorite thing, but it’s not so bad when the steps are predetermined and everyone is laughing and having fun and generally couldn’t care less if you mess up. Not to mention with Wardo beside him, jostling their shoulders together every couple of minutes and beaming and singing along through all of it.

It’s moments like this when Mark’s still perplexed that he gets to have this, have Eduardo and be with him and just… what could he possibly have done in a past life to deserve it? Not to mention he’s even luckier when he thinks about how things turned out.

Obviously, Robert and Julia are happier than ever. Eduardo ended up loving the internship his dad got him, and when it finished they offered him another job. Since he liked it so much, he took the past year off from Harvard to work there, though he’ll be going back to school in the fall. Mark’s graduating in a week or two, a year early, because high school isn’t the worst thing in the world but he’s exhausted the curriculum and he’s ready to move on. He applied early decision to (where else?) Harvard, got in, and he’ll be a freshman there in just a couple months.

Not to mention, he has a pretty awesome roommate. (He tells everyone that whenever possible, just to see Eduardo laugh and grin and act all modest.)

Eduardo wasn’t the main motivator in Mark’s decision by any means, just like Mark knows he wasn’t the primary influence in Eduardo’s. But it’s kind of cool how they’re meeting in the middle like this, something Mark was never optimistic enough to hope for but is now becoming a reality. He’s the happiest he’s ever been and he’s looking forward to the future now more than he ever has.

Back in the present, though, he’s fighting his way off the floor against Chris and Dustin’s pleas and Eduardo’s puppy dog eyes (the hardest of all to resist). He goes to get a drink, because it’s hot, and sits down to just breathe awhile.

It’s kind of nice, to have just a minute to sit back and observe. Eduardo’s laughing at something Dustin said, head thrown back and face alight. Chris has tears in his eyes from giggling and Mark wonders if he can even breathe, and Dustin looks just as amused, in addition to being quite pleased with himself.

He feels a hand on his shoulder behind him, and turns to see Julia smiling down at him.

“Having fun?” she asks, and Mark nods and smiles and stands to give her a hug.

She laughs lightly as he does so, and murmurs in his ear as she gives him a squeeze, “Thank you.”

When he pulls back, he gives her a quizzical look, and she rolls her eyes kindly as gestures to where Eduardo, Chris, and Dustin are. “For making him so happy,” she explains, her tone still soft.

Mark starts to sputter, because he doesn’t deserve that praise—Eduardo is just as responsible for his own happiness as anyone else. But Julia cuts him off before he can begin.

“No, no—you don’t know, you didn’t see him before,” she explains, shaking her head a little with a smile. Then she gives him a very appraising look. “You’re good for him.”

He feels his eyes grow wide because that choice of words felt very deliberate, and she laughs, leaning in closer and speaking even quieter. “It’s okay, Mark, I get it. I’m very observant, you know.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he admits, feeling himself flush. “Neither of us did.”

Her face turns sympathetic, as if she somehow knows how hard it was for them, or maybe she just knows how hard it will be to come. “That’s life, Mark. Sometimes the best things come unexpectedly.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, but he feels something catch in his throat and his eyes sting. He hugs her again, harder this time, and he can feel her smile even then. “Thank _you_ ,” he grits out, words full of emotion.

She pats his back, and when she pulls back, points at him with her finger and a very teasing expression. “You two be good to each other, now,” she says, mock sternly, and then more seriously. “It won’t be easy, and people aren’t always going to understand, but… you can let their words destroy it, or you can use them to make it stronger. Don’t break each others’ hearts.”

Mark nods very solemnly in response, because it means so much to him, that Julia would give them her blessing like this. She kisses his cheek softly, and then gives him a final smile before she moves on, greeting someone else.

He turns around, and there are Chris and Dustin heading toward him. “Hey,” he says, and they return his greeting before coming to stand next to him.

The song changes to something slow and sweet and romantic, a woman’s voice singing softly over gentle piano. Eduardo catches his eye from across the room, smile small and private. Mark smiles back, unable to help it.

Chris catches him looking and nudges Mark’s shoulder. “Go on,” he says, tone indulgent.

Mark narrows his eyes slightly at him. “What?”

Chris rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and Dustin’s grin kicks up a notch. “Go dance with him, idiot,” he elaborates, more put-upon this time.

“Yeah, Marky-Mark!” Dustin exclaims. “Come on, loverboy, go find a secret spot and win his heart through _dance_!” he urges enthusiastically, accompanying the words with an energetic and somewhat frightening arm flail.

Mark rolls his eyes, trying his best to remain his stoic self, but he can’t help but laugh a little at their antics. Before he can respond though, Chris makes a frustrated noise and shoves him towards Eduardo, ordering, “ _Go_.”

So Mark goes. Like he was really ever _not_ going to. Please.

Eduardo’s smile grows wider the closer Mark gets, and the pull towards him is practically magnetic. “Hi,” he says, shifting himself so they’re standing shoulder to shoulder.

Mark smiles back, tugging on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Follow me.”

Mark grabs his hand once they’re out of sight, tangling their fingers together. They snake their way past the crowd, back inside the building and into the adjacent empty ballroom that the venue must use for indoor receptions. Mark leaves the door slightly ajar so that they can still hear the music, soft and far-off but still audible.

“What is this?” Eduardo asks, sounding curious but happy.

Mark gives him a look, like _isn’t it obvious_ , but instead just steps forward and takes Eduardo’s hand, moving forward so that they’re cheek to cheek. Eduardo lets out a surprised, “Oh,” and settles a hand on the small of Mark’s back, and Mark brings his other up to settle on Eduardo’s shoulder.

They sway silently for a few minutes, alone and secret in the empty room, listening to the gentle piano and just breathing each other in. Mark feels a little bit like he’s living out a cliché in an indie romance or something like that, but it dawns on him that maybe there’s a reason it’s a cliché if it feels this good.

And then something clicks in Mark’s head and he asks, “Didn’t Elvis sing this song?” 

Wardo's laugh tinkles in his ear, soft and warm. “Yeah, the original.”

“That’s not very romantic,” Mark continues. “He also sang about hound dogs, you know.” Eduardo pulls back a little so he can look at Mark, and his smile is practically blinding with intensity. “The hound dog song is catchy, though,” he admits, opening his mouth again with a playful expression.

“ _Don’t sing_ ,” Mark cuts him off, and Eduardo throws his head back in a full laugh.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But what does Elvis have to do with it? The song can still be romantic.” Mark sighs. “How?” he asks. Part of it is just banter, because that’s what he does, but  
underneath there is an honest edge to it. He’s not a romantic like Eduardo—this stuff doesn’t come naturally to him, and he’s a little jealous that it does for Eduardo. He just… he wishes he was like that, a little.

Eduardo eyes him perceptively, rubbing his thumb against the back of Mark’s hand unconsciously. “It’s just… It’s the words, and the truth and emotion behind them. It’s kind

of a universal thing, something everyone can relate to. And—and it’s a beautiful thought,” he finishes, looking a little bashful at his own words, like he gave too much away.

And Mark doesn’t say anything in response, just takes a moment listening to what the girl is singing. Hears, “ _shall I stay, would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you_ ,” and “ _some things are meant to be_ ”, and thinks that maybe Eduardo is right. Maybe it does make sense, maybe it is romantic regardless of who sang it, because… it works, it makes him think of Wardo, and what they have together.

“Okay,” he concedes, blushing a little, because Eduardo is looking at him like he’s something wonderful, and it makes him feel a little self-conscious. “I see it now,” he says, a little breathless without really knowing why. He thinks to himself that it’s kind of a miracle. Because honestly, in no other context _would_ he understand it, this is the only way—in this dimly lit room with the quiet piano in the background, spinning around slowly with Wardo, who is the only person who could _make_ him understand this.

Eduardo nods like he can hear Mark’s thoughts, and leans forward so that they’re cheeks are brushing again, tilting his head to the side a little to whisper in Mark’s ear. “I love you,” he says.

They’ve said it to each other a million times by now, or at least it feels that way, but it still sends a little thrill down his spine every single time.

Mark turns his head and brushes their lips together, soft and comfortable. “Love you too, Wardo,” he replies, and feels him smile against his lips as they go in for another kiss.

And this is where, with the past overcome and the future stretching out in front of them, that Mark _knows_. He knows that there’s still hard things to come, just like Julia said, but he knows that this is—and will always be—worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> PDF download [here](http://www.mediafire.com/?gt46d4dak9lswwc) and ficmix [here](http://serenatechair.livejournal.com/13727.html#cutid1)


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